


Hell and High Water

by Rising_Eagle (Robin_Mask)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age of Consent, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, Loki as the Favourite, Loki is Sixteen, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Recovering Alcoholic, Thor is Eighteen, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-11 22:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13533702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Rising_Eagle
Summary: Loki needed a parent.It was clear Hela was not up to this task, so the welfare of Loki fell to his grandfather: Odin. The first few years passed without incident, but then things began to change between Loki and Thor . . . a few lingering touches, a few shared jokes, an intimacy that went beyond nephew and uncle . . . Odin grew suspicious. He grew afraid.They would need to be kept apart, for Loki's sake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Three Hundred Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254254) by [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/pseuds/ravenbringslight). 



“Tend to your child, Hela.”

Odin rested his hands on the crib. The cool wood rocked with the force of Loki’s struggles; tiny fists pounded the air with erratic movements, while soft cheeks were almost blue from the force of his cries, and every other second he would choke for breath. He struggled against his swaddling cloths. The loud wails pierced Odin’s ears, bringing small winces to his aging face, and it broke his heart to see Loki . . . tossing, turning, _trapped_. . . desperate for attention.

He leaned his face into the crib, so that Loki would not be alone. Loki slowed his sobs and reached every upward, with green eyes blinking back immense tears, and Odin offered forth a callused finger for a tiny hand to grip and pull. It was difficult to look on those high cheekbones and angled features, enough that that Odin tensed for a brief second, but soon he saw Loki for the reality of the situation . . . a newborn babe. Innocent. Odin pulled a face and laughed to see Loki chuckle through tears, as he stroked at those chubby cheeks.

“Do not fuss over him, Father,” chided Hela.

“Your boy is but two weeks old, my child.” Odin let out a hiss of breath. “If you seek to employ the Ferber method, this is far too soon and it will end in failure. Do you not remember how your mother struggled with Thor? These things take time.”

“That woman is _not_ my mother. Remember that.”

Odin cast an eye over the trophy room. Hela stood before the fireplace, with arm rested on the mantel and dark eyes staring with great intensity into the flames, and as she stood – light reflecting strangely from her leather-clad form – he saw the tension to her shoulders and the tight clenching of her fists. A bottle of vodka hung from her right hand, still mostly full and yet with a clear stain of lipstick on its rim. Odin noted a few upturned bottles over the tables and floor, along with various streamers and paper plates. His nostrils flared, as he said:

“Frigga is my wife, Hela. Frigga is good to you.”

He reached down into the crib. Loki was soft in his hands, so warm and fragile, and Odin smiled as those loud cries came to an instant silence, broken only with soft murmurs and gentle sobs. He pulled Loki to his chest, careful to support the neck. Loki was lulled into a quick sleep by the sound of his heartbeat, while Odin patted his back in a regular rhythm, and only the sound of Hela’s bitter scoff disturbed the otherwise quiet room.

Odin cast his gaze over the framed photographs on the walls. He flinched to see the sole image of Fárbauti and Hela hidden behind several trophies and plaques, while every other frame bore forth immortalised moments from his life with Frigga . . . their wedding day, their honeymoon, the day Thor was born . . . a few photographs of Loki now joined in the collage. It was one of Thor – just two years of age – holding Loki that made him smile. The room stood as a testament to family and years of achievements, yet something was absent.

Hela tossed her bottle to the ground, where it smashed with a loud crash. Loki cried out. It took all of Odin’s strength to hush the young babe, bouncing him with a narrowing of his eyes, and he held back the urge to snarl in response. The liquid ran over the expensive tiles, while the glass shimmered from the light of the fire and moon beyond the window, and Hela marched across the room to stand a few feet from Odin. Her finger jabbed at the air.

“He is _my_ son,” spat Hela.

“Do you wish for him back?” Odin asked. “You would only forget he exists. He deserves better than a mother who spends her nights starting brawls in the street and consorting with known criminals. What example do you set for him? Frigga and I were absent for a short vacation, but what do we return home to find? The remains of a drunken house-party!”

“Well, it was a rather _good_ party.” Hela shrugged with a smirk. “That woman has changed you, Father. I remember what life was like before you gave into her charms. Odin Borson . . . now surrounded by goblets and garden parties, a pillar of his community . . .”

“Watch what you say next, child.”

“You are so proud to have it all, but so ashamed of how you got it. I remember well the back-alley gambling, the backroom deals, the broken kneecaps . . . they called me your ‘executioner’, do you know that? We were an absolute power. Our supremacy was unchallenged. Yet you stopped when you met _her_. Why was that, I wonder?”

A cold wind blew snow against the windows. The ice formed strange patterns, each more intricate than the last, while the howling wind only added to Loki’s cries, so that – every time a shutter rattled – he would yelp and fuss all over again. The room grew dark as clouds formed across the sky, while the fire raged ever on with loud crackles and pops as the wood snapped from the heat. Odin lifted his head high and called out:

“Frigga and I wish to adopt Loki.”

Hela laughed and stalked the length of the room. Long fingers traced over trophies and keepsakes and antiques, topping them over one by one . . . _‘fake’, ‘weak’, ‘smaller than I expected’, ‘not actually that bad’_. . . one by one they crashed to the floor. Odin watched as priceless vases were reduced to pieces, while a photograph with the mayor shattered on impact, and a trophy – a prize from a charity run – dented along the rim. Hela snatched a bottle of whiskey from a pile of discarded clothing, as she came to stand before Odin.

The house was mostly empty. The damage was mostly reversible. Hela uncapped the bottle and took a large swig, before swirling the amber liquid with a cold eye, and soon she locked her gaze on Odin with a curl of her lip. He remained silent, while his fingers pressed against black hair and his lips pressed to a warm head. Loki sniffed and murmured. There was a stench in the air like vomit and sweat, enough that Odin bristled and frowned.

“No,” said Hela. “He is mine.”

“Will you tell him who sired him?” Odin laughed. “You would lumber him with Laufey’s name, forcing him to be associated with my business rival and a common criminal? No. No one yet knows you gave birth, Hela. It would be easy to feign him Frigga’s son.”

“Your solution to every problem was always to cover it up. Well, you will not take my child and raise him as another heir to your _precious_ little lifestyle, Father. I may regret having slept with that buffoon, but I do not regret having carried Loki and having given him life, and I will take him away from all these fake trinkets and decorated lies. You will never see him again. You will never see _me_ again. I have ambitions for him beyond this façade.”

“You will not take my grandson from me, Hela.” Odin held Loki ever closer. “If you sign the contracts that my lawyers have written, I will see to it that you are paid handsomely for your loss, and I will even provide you with accommodation in any country you so desire. I will even gladly sign away our smaller businesses to you, so you may rule as you so crave.”

“Hand me my son. I will not ask you twice. He is mine.”

“Do you think the courts will be in your favour?”

Hela reached out with just one hand. Odin growled at her, as she snatched much like a child at a toy, and cradled Loki to his chest so that none could take him, arms wrapped firmly around him, but Hela snatched out again with long nails catching at Loki’s cheek. He screamed. The loud cries were enough for Odin to lurch forward, where he snarled at her like a wounded animal, and yet she did not back down. Hela held her ground.

Once more that hand came for Loki, whose forehead bled with several marks. Odin dove back and marched to the doorway; Hela cried out and gulped at the bottle, before – once more – it was tossed just like the rest, but this time at a far wall. The amber liquid ran down in rivulets, staining the paper and collecting in a puddle on the floor. Loki wept and wept, while blood pulled in his eyes, and his tears ran red in turn. Hela paced back and forth, back and forth, until she grabbed at another bottle and this time held it high toward Odin.

He spun his body around. He kept his back to Hela. Loki screamed against his chest, but he would be kept out of the line of fire, and yet . . . as tears formed in her reddened eyes . . . she dropped the bottle to her side and let it swing back and forth. Odin glanced over his shoulder, where he saw her raise a trembling hand to her mouth. He winced and blinked away tears. It was quiet throughout the house, only Loki broke that silence. Odin whispered:

“They will not grant custody to a drunk.”

“A drunk? _A drunk_?”

Hela laughed so low and deep that Loki wept harder. The bottle was soon upturned, as she poured it over every surface and made a show of disposing of the contents, and yet – as the bottle was emptied – she went for another and another . . . Odin said nothing, even as he cursed and screwed shut his eyes, but he heard how she screamed and shouted. He opened his eyes to see her paled. Tears ran down her cheeks. Hela smashed and broke all the remaining bottles, even as the leftover streamers turned to mush underfoot, as she choked out:

“Am I still a drunk? Where is my drink now?”

Hela fell to her knees, while she wept in turn, and Odin – turning with stinging eyes – continued to bounce Loki and bit hard into his lip. He tasted iron. A part of him longed to throw his arms around her, but Loki needed his cuts tended and his stomach filled, while Thor and Frigga waited in a hotel for word that it was okay to return. Odin remained in the doorway, while he watched her finally laugh and wipe away her tears.

There was just one last bottle. It rolled across the floor, hitting at her knee, where she placed a shaking hand to it and held it with a strange gentleness, and an eerie smile swept over her lips until lines deepened at her eyes. Hela appeared sober, enough that he knew the remains of drunken escapades came forth from her many guests, and yet he tensed to remember how his bed was mussed and sheets were wrinkled, while a glove of Laufey’s sat on his pillow, as if to taunt him. He listened to his heart race. He panted for breath. Hela muttered:

“You have replaced me with my own son.”

“You are my daughter,” said Odin.

“You papered over Mother’s murals,” muttered Hela. “You hid her photographs in boxes locked within the attic. You ask me to call your new wife ‘Mother’ . . . you ask me to watch Thor even as he learns to toddle toward her skirts . . . how soon will it be before I am just a shadow like Mother? Will you neglect to tell them about me? Will I even matter?”

“You thirst for power, but you have let all my lessons fall to nothing but myths and dreams, and where I thought you would learn from me . . . you have learnt nothing. If you sincerely seek to be a mother to Loki, you will go to a rehabilitation clinic tomorrow.”

“I will do no such thing. I am not the alcoholic you make me seem!”

“Look to Loki’s forehead. Do you see those scratches?”

“He is _my_ son! Loki is mine.”

Odin shook his head. The room reeked of alcohol, while Hela’s long hair clung and matted at the ends from where it dragged in the puddles underhand, and – with fingers still clasped on the stray bottle – she desperately gasped for breath and started to hyperventilate. He pressed his lips into a thin line. He blinked away tears. Loki sobbed quietly against him, clad only in the green swaddling cloth and now feeling the chill, while Odin could only whisper:

“Not any more.”

A broken laugh escaped her lips.

It started slow and quiet, but grew manic and loud. Loki wept in turn once again, unable to endure the noise, and his frustrated cries only increased when she screamed. _Hela screamed._ It cut through the household like a knife, until Skurge shouted from across the household and some unrecognisable voice called back, but Hela made no coherent sound in response, lost to her tears and cries and shakes of her head. Her hand contracted around the bottle.

Hela looked up. Their eyes met. He knew what she intended to do . . . eyes narrowed, lips curled, shoulders tensed . . . no words left his lips, except for a whispered ‘ _no’_. Odin stumbled back and angled his body away. He hunched over Loki. Hela screamed from behind, as she threw the full bottle towards the fireplace. It smashed. The next few sounds were a roar of life, as fire raged through the room, aided by the alcohol poured over every surface, and soon flames engulfed the trophy room. Hela laughed. Hela _laughed . . ._ unmoving . . .

Odin ran.

He fled down the stairs, while fire-alarms blared and Loki wailed. He kicked and yelled at a few sleeping figures strewn in odd positions about the house, while pausing only in the hall to dial _one-one-two_ and left the receiver dangling from the phone-table. Smoke quickly flooded the house, even as he stormed through the front doors and stumbled onto the snow, dropping to his knees on the front garden beyond. Loki wailed and screamed. The snow raged.

“Hela,” whispered Odin. “Hela, please . . .”

Sirens echoed through the night. A flash of red-and-blue lights blinded his vision, while various guests and strangers poured forth from the doors, and – as more and more people collapsed on the cold lawn – he stared upward to the raging inferno. The windows to the trophy room exploded with a shattering of glass, forcing him to crash down onto the snow and clasp Loki against his chest. Black smoke billowed from the frames. Coughs. Splutters. Tears. He watched despite the chaos around him, but there was no sign of Hela.

He watched even as the sirens stopped. Hands were on his shoulders, guiding him on trembling legs to a stark white vehicle, and – sat down – a blanket was thrown over him. Loki taken from his arms. A light shone in his eyes. Odin cursed and pushed away prodding hands, while others on the lawn were congregated together, and police started to collect names to put with faces. Loki cried behind him. A paramedic promised he was safe.

A tear ran down Odin’s cheek, as he struggled to process events. The house would be permanently destroyed with the force of the growing fire, although a few rooms on the ground floor might have survived, and prayed Hela had enough sense of mind to flee. He glanced over the lower windows. No shadows. No movement. Odin wept, even as someone asked him questions . . . ‘ _is the baby yours’, ‘is anyone else inside the house’, ‘who owns the property’_. . . he looked back to the trophy room and said through tears:

“Hela. I am sorry.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you miss me, Loki?”

Thor slid into a chair, as he sipped at his beer. The bottle was lukewarm, left out in his room overnight, and yet it still retained some of its taste. He picked at the label; small fragments dropped onto the kitchen table, as they piled up and collected by the coaster, and – as he watched Loki – he smirked as a draught blew the pieces in all directions. The fragments scattered. They landed over the tiled floor and his rough jeans, as he chuckled at the mess.

A female voice called through an apology, as the draught slammed shut a door with a loud bang, and – despite how the noise hurt his ears – it did prevent the cold from penetrating further, while the front door clicked closed. Loki let out a hiss of breath. He stood by the sink and leaned against the white marble, while green eyes stared at the scattered remains over a freshly swept floor, and crossed his arms over a black waistcoat, while his lip curled in an all too familiar manner. Thor opened his mouth to speak, but Loki cut him off with a bitter:

“Grandfather will have your head.”

“Yeah?” Thor rolled his eyes. “What have I done now?”

Loki marched across the kitchen. He stopped just a foot short of the wooden table, where he reached out and snatched the bottle straight from Thor’s hand, and – as Thor stood with a roar of protest – Loki jumped out of his reach and strode over to the sink. The leftover liquid was poured down the drain, while the bottle was quickly dropped into the recycle bin. There was no word of apology. Loki simply stood with hands on the edge of the sink, while he stared out through the kitchen windows with black hair loose about his shoulders.

Thor rolled his shoulders, as he swept over to Loki. A hand grabbed at a bony shoulder, wrenching him around, so that Thor could lean down into his personal space, and there he stood so close that he could _taste_ Loki’s breath on his lips. There was a rich scent of honey and fruit, from an early and healthy breakfast, while a pink tinge lay on his cheeks and gave a small iota of colour to otherwise pale skin. Thor shoved at him and knocked him back.

“Are you looking for a fight?”

“My mother _died_ because of that poison,” spat Loki. “I love you more than _anyone_ , Thor, but you are reckless . . . you are dangerous. Are you what Grandfather needs from a son? You are no more than a drunken lout desperate for attention, flouting all rules set in this house. You have been at university for less than one term, so don’t think that just because –”

“I’m legally allowed to drink, Loki! Do you think everyone to be as tight and anal as you? I’m allowed to have fun should I wish. You’re still just a child; I am busy with studies, while you are busy with tricks. What is it that makes you so afraid to just . . . _let go_?”

“Grandfather said no alcohol in this house.”

“He’s an old man and a fool!”

Thor panted for breath. He clenched his fists and looked Loki over, where he saw a smirk that pulled at the corners of his eyes, and – as the lines deepened – he caught the faint sound of someone calling out to them . . . _‘no fighting in this house’_. . . Thor ran a hand over his face, as his beard scratched at his palm, and let out a hiss of breath. Thor stepped away from Loki and moved over to the back door, where he threw it wide open to let the cold air from outside hit him hard. He closed his eyes, while Loki laughed and asked in a cold voice:

“Now who is looking for a fight?”

Loki filled the sink to the brim, while he poured in liquid soap, and – with a mutter of complaint – piled in the various dirty dishes to soak, as small splashes of water jumped over the sides and onto the cuffs of his green shirt. Thor watched him from the corner of his eyes, while he leaned against the doorframe and glanced over the perfectly immaculate garden. A swinging bench blew in the breeze beneath a white archway. Thor muttered:

“It isn’t wise to be in my company right now.”

“Whoever said I was wise?”

The tap was turned off. Loki wiped his hands on a tea-towel, before he came around to stand beside Thor and touched at his shoulder with hesitation. Thor tensed, but soon came undone as Loki slipped behind him and massaged at his muscled shoulders with an expertise that matched no other, while thick knots were worked out by long fingers. The cool breeze provided a gentle distraction, as the wind picked at bare branches and reflected from the dew strewn over the blades of grass. Loki leaned into him and whispered:

“You drank too much.”

“Yeah,” muttered Thor. “They held a fresher’s event at the student union. I forgot that I agreed to spend this weekend at home, so I  may have drank until I passed out, but luckily Sif lives not far and was able to drive me back. I know you worry, Loki, but it’s okay to have fun. I won’t become a raging alcoholic simply because I like to socialise.”

“Only first years are allowed in dormitories.” Loki let out a long sigh. “Will you drink this much with house-mates and obligations? Will you return home and commute to save money? It will come to a point where you will need to rein in your bad habits.”

“Why? Afraid I may burn down the house?”

“That is a _very_ low blow, Uncle,” spat Loki. “I am not asking you to take a pledge of sobriety, but simply not to bring alcohol into this house. Do you see these scars on my head? Do you? I see them every day when I look into a mirror. I have no memory of that night, but I remember _every anniversary_ after for the past ten years . . . I see the pain in his eyes.”

Loki dropped his hands to his sides. Thor turned to see the four faint scars that ran across his forehead, as if he bore a perpetual frown, and he winced to look away at the family photographs that lined the kitchen walls like decorative remembrances. He saw Odin holding a newborn Loki with wonder in his eyes . . . he saw Loki toddling as Odin bore an eye-patch . . . he saw year after year where the lines on Odin’s face grew deeper and deeper, until all light seemed extinguished and only pain remained. Thor said with a low voice:

“He hides it well.”

“He hides everything,” whispered Loki.

“I only have very vague memories of Iceland.” Thor shrugged and kicked at the ground. “I have dreams sometimes of vast wastelands of ice, but I have no idea whether I am remembering what I once saw or imagining what I think I ought to see.”

“I had to draw a family tree for college and –”

“High-School,” corrected Thor.

“No, I mean _college_. Are we really doing this again? I’m not explaining the ins and outs of the British educational system to some jock that spent his teens in an Australian boarding school. Tell me, what were your best subjects again? Surfing? Sunbathing?”

“You’re such a brat,” laughed Thor. “I should’ve attended college in Australia, as at least then I would have my independence and some space. Do you ever feel claustrophobic here, Loki? I shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed just because I like a drink. The first time I so much as sipped a beer . . . I threw up. I threw up as I was _convinced_ I would become like her.”

Loki winced and walked onto the patio. The high walls of the garden provided the illusion of privacy, while the balconies above remained shut for the winter, and – as Loki wandered over to a stone bench – Thor caught the terror writ across the features. He knew that fear, too. It was the fear that came any time a loved one toasted with champagne or sipped at some wine . . . _‘will this be the drink that sends it spiralling’_. . . Loki clenched his hands around the edge of the bench, where he drew in a deep breath and let out a long sigh.

“At least you don’t look like her,” whispered Loki.

The words hung heavy in the air. Thor glanced to the photographs, only to realise one cold and brutal truth: no photographs of Hela survived. If it were not for Loki’s name, as well as the legal frustrations in adoption, they perhaps would have been lied to throughout their childhoods, raised as brothers and never knowing more. Thor walked to Loki and sat beside him. He pressed his hand to the stone and let fingertips press against soft thigh. Loki asked:

“Why did you come back, Thor?”

“You know why, Loki.”

Thor winked and pinched at Loki’s buttock. Loki visibly jumped, before he flushed red and glanced over every window about the house, but – with Frigga busy with various chores and Odin consumed with work – they were left unobserved. They sat in relative silence, even as Loki pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. The borderline comfortable atmosphere was soon lost as Loki blinked away tears and turned to face Thor. He straddled the bench and leaned forward, until his face was but a few inches from Thor, and quietly he spat:

“You should have stayed down under.”

Thor was left speechless. Loki snarled and swung a leg back around, before he marched back into the kitchen and slammed the door shut with a loud slam, and – with the gates padlocked and walls over six-foot high – Thor feared being locked out. It would have been in Loki’s petty nature to commit such a ‘prank’, even as the taps audibly began running through an opened kitchen window. Thor rolled his eyes, as he walked back into the kitchen.

The kitchen door was unlocked, much to his surprise. Thor sighed and walked behind Loki, where he wrapped his arms around that slim waist, and – with gentle murmurs – placed gentle kisses over that long column of neck. He was lost in the moment. He sighed in contentment. Loki scooped up a cup-full of soapy water, only to break the intimacy by throwing it over his shoulder. It struck Thor in the face, dripping everywhere and splattering Loki in the process, and – as he cursed – the soap stung his eyes and blurred his vision.

Thor stumbled back, as he snatched at a tea-towel to wipe at his face, but – with a cold realisation – he saw how Loki spun around with hand raised.  Thor snatched at his wrist. The inevitable blow never made contact, but a small bruise formed on pale skin as Thor strove to hold Loki back without doing permanent damage. They stayed in a stalemate. It took a long few seconds of glaring at one another, before Loki yanked his hand away and Thor spat:

“What’s your problem?”

“What do you think my problem is, Uncle?”

“Is this about that picture I posted online?” Thor ran a hand over his face. “I am sorry I tagged you! If I’d known that my profile was public, or that Laufey would’ve liked it, then I swear I wouldn’t have uploaded it. Did he contact you? Did he say –?”

“This isn’t about Laufey. This about that _woman_.” Loki curled his lip. “I saw you together online, Thor. I saw the photographs she posted of you two in bed, just as I saw the videos Fandral posted of the two of you at that concert, and you look _oh_ so happy together. Does she satisfy you? Is she good at what she does? Maybe I’ll pay her a visit myself.”

“How did you even -?”

“I hacked Darcy’s social media. You may want to tell your friends to _not_ leave their passwords on post-it notes, especially when those post-it notes are stuck on their laptops. Don’t remember your last night here before you left for your dormitory? You promised me that we would stay as close as ever, but instead I speak to you less than when you were in Australia . . . we used to speak daily, we used to video-call, we used to write . . .”

Loki rapidly blinked. He shook his head and laughed, but it was a soulless sound devoid of all life, and then – as he bit hard into his lip – he walked over to the pass-through kitchen window, where he looked out over the lounge with hands pressed to the counter. Thor took in a deep breath; he strove to still his racing heart, while a cold sweat broke over his skin, and yet he moved to stand beside Loki. A few stray textbooks sat on a table, beside exercise books and official paperwork, and family photographs littered the floor. Loki whispered:

“You’re less than ten miles away.”

“I still love you, Loki,” said Thor. “It is just that this is a big change. You’ll understand in a couple of years, but I’d have never met Hogun or Volstagg if I hadn’t decided to study locally or live in the dorms, and I wouldn’t have such fun were I stuck in Father’s house. Loki, you will always be my nephew, but some things in life . . . I require _more_. That’s all.”

“I was willing to give you more, Thor. I still _am_ willing to give you more. You were the one that pushed me away . . . that decided ‘more’ was ‘too much’ . . . you are avoiding me, Thor, I know the truth. Why did you sleep with me if you never wanted more?”

“Loki, be quiet! If someone overhears us –”

“You _slept_ with me!”

Thor dragged him over to the pantry. He threw Loki inside, before he walked in after and slammed the door shut between them, and – as he flicked on a light – shelves on shelves of canned goods towered over them in a claustrophobic manner. Loki stumbled back, where he grasped a couple of shelves for balance. The cramped space was sound-proofed. They learned at a young age the bricked room provided the perfect place for screaming matches and physical fights, which were soon replaced by make-out sessions in the weeks before Thor left.

He rounded on Loki. He threw his hands on either side of Loki’s head. Thor leaned down into Loki’s space, where that familiar smirk was used to cover up familiar insecurity, and he saw how the tears formed and threatened to fall down Loki’s cheeks. The scent of Loki’s cologne was heavy in the air, while he heard every rushed breath from those plump lips. Thor fought back a stirring of arousal, as he licked at his lips and whispered into Loki’s ear:

“I didn’t know it would mean this much to you.”

“You were my first,” muttered Loki.

Thor winced and pulled back. He finally gave Loki space, as he crouched down on the floor, where he pulled over a storage box and sat on the dusty lid, and yet Loki said nothing else even as he righted himself and straightened his clothes. It was easy to remember that Loki was sixteen, now the age of consent, but also easy to forget that they were legally and biologically related, so that any union would be incestuous in nature. Thor clenched his hands and held them between his legs, while he gnawed at his lips and fought to find words.

“Loki, you’re my nephew.”

“We were raised like brothers,” said Loki.

“That makes it better?” Thor shook his head. “Do you know _why_ Father sent me to boarding school abroad, Loki? He saw how I looked at you! That was all it took, Loki, and that is why he forced me into to live in the dormitory when I am in commuting distance. If he finds out that we slept together -? Even if you are sixteen -? He’ll kill me.”

“He already lost one child, Thor. He won’t lose another. You also assume we would have to make this a public relationship! Why can’t we just enjoy each other’s company? I just don’t want to see you running into her arms when I am here . . . waiting.”

“You cannot offer me what she can, Loki. You just can’t.”

“Is that so? Are you so sure?”

Loki scoffed and sat astride Thor. He struggled to balance, forcing Thor to lean back on the wooden shelving, and – with hands pressed to a muscled chest – he writhed just enough that buttocks provided a delicious friction to an awakening member. Thor tried to push Loki away, but soon Loki arched his back and buried his face against his neck. There were kisses. There were licks. Thor groaned and pulled Loki impossibly close, while his hands explored his back and buttocks . . . groping, grinding . . . Loki chuckled and warned:

“You need a reminder to whom you belong.”

Teeth sank into Thor’s neck. He cried out in pain, as he tried to pull Loki away, but Loki held fast and simply suckled at the wound even as blood was drawn. The pain was intense, while no doubt a love-bite would be quickly formed, and yet it was high enough on his neck that even a scarf or polo-neck would struggle to hide the mark. Loki pulled away with a loud gasp for air, before he slapped at Thor’s cheek with a laugh, and chirped:

“Explain _that_ to your mewling quim.”

Loki climbed from Thor’s lap; he switched off the light, before he marched out of the pantry and slammed the door shut, leaving Thor alone and in pain. He raised a hand to his neck and winced at the sensation of broken skin, while the darkness made it impossible to see damage done, and – as he cursed – he saw shadows play across the floor. Light leaked out from under the door, where Loki stood. A slide of something metal. Footsteps walking away. Thor did not need to get up to realise he was locked inside the pantry, and yet . . .

He smiled, impressed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Odin stood tall before Thor.

The light streamed out before him, silhouetting him in the doorway. Thor winced and turned his head away, as the sharp light from the kitchen struck his eyes, and – raising a hand to his forehead – blinked rapidly as he sought to adjust his vision. Odin stared hard at Thor with his good eye half-squinted, while his hands clenched tightly at his hips, and the lines on his forehead deepened with the pressure of his frown. He looked furious.

Thor stood to his feet, as he stretched out his limbs. There was laughter beyond, deep and mocking in nature, and – with a hiss of breath and a flare of his nostrils – Thor marched forward with hands clenched until knuckles turned white. A hand shot out. Odin pushed at Thor’s chest, forcing him back a few steps, before he raised a pointed finger and aimed it just an inch or so from his face. Thor pulled back his head, desperate to avoid being stabbed by that warning digit. He pursed at his lips and gritted his teeth. Odin said:

“You are too old for this.”

“I didn’t _choose_ to be locked in here,” spat Thor.

“No? Tell me, Thor, who locked you in here?” Odin narrowed his blue eye. “Did you do nothing to provoke Loki? Did you not mock his silver tongue? Did you not accuse him of being a trickster? If you did nothing to deserve his wrath, I shall punish him at once and make sure that he does not leave his rooms for the duration of your visit.”

“He provoked me first! He insulted my relationship with Jane.”

“That is your defence?” ‘He started it’?” Odin scoffed and said: “You were accepted to the best universities in America and Australia, Thor, but still you decided to attend the most local university that was possible. Why was this, Thor? I asked that you attend elsewhere.”

Thor stared down at the floor. He said nothing, even as his jaw ached and his palms bled, and – as he dug his nails into his skin – small crescent-shaped cuts appeared on his flesh, while he listened to his heart roar in his ears. The light grew a little dimmer as Frigga walked behind Odin, blocking the light while she took platters of food from the kitchen tables, before she disappeared through the double doors into the dining room. Odin stepped to the side. Thor walked out into the kitchen and stretched, while he cricked his neck.

“You are his uncle,” said Odin.

The accusation was clear, with the words almost a hushed whisper. Odin turned his back on Thor, before he marched through the kitchen to the double doors, and – with a loud slam – they shut behind him and left Thor standing alone in the kitchen. He glanced to the photographs of Loki on the wall . . . _‘Thor, he suffered the loss of his mother, would you begrudge him the love of a grandmother’_. . . always the favourite, always so special.

Thor wondered if things could have been different.

If they were just raised as brothers, with Loki never having the shadows of a lost mother hanging over him, and if Thor was not forced to bear the expectations of an ‘uncle’ . . . he ran a hand over his face and followed Odin. He listened to the sound of his footsteps, each one a loud slap hard on the tiles below, while he struggled to control his breathing and gnawed at his lip until he tasted iron. He threw open the dining room doors.

Odin sat at the head of the table. Frigga on his right, Loki on his left, and – with the table so long – Thor would need to sit beside on of them . . . an extra in the family of three, with a place hastily made with cutlery that did not quite match the rest. A loud gasp escaped Frigga’s lips. At once, she climbed to her feet on sight of him. He felt those soft arms before he saw them, as they wrapped around his muscled waist and a soft head rested against his chest, and pulled back with a warm smile that brought tears to her eyes. Frigga whispered:

“Thor, I am so glad you are home.”

Frigga guided him to sit beside her. The serving bowls before him were filled to the brim, so that the overwhelming scent of home-cooked food made his mouth water, and he smiled to enjoy something other than pasta sandwiches or day-old takeout. Frigga slid into her seat, while lifting large portions of vegetables and potatoes onto his plate. He laughed when she took an extra pair of chops from Odin and Loki, bringing scowls to their faces, and – as he ate with a devastating hunger – she poked at the mark on his neck and half-smiled.

“ _Thor_ ,” teased Frigga. “I see that some things never change.”

Thor blushed and muttered: “I’m dating Jane.”

“Aye,” said Odin. “This is the American student who plans to work in the sciences? I would advise you to break up with her sooner than later, as she has no more place in our family than a goat at a banquet table. The family businesses require an heir, while you most certainly require a firm and steady hand to help guide you through life. It is not time to settle down?”

“At eighteen?” Loki asked. “I think that a bad idea.”

“I suspect I know why you would think that way, but you do not understand what is at risk by such inappropriate unions. If Thor wishes to sow his wild oats, let that be so and be contented, but do not think that I would approve of some upstart attempting to seek legal rights to my empire through matrimony. Do you not rather seek the company of say Sif?”

“My friend since childhood?” Thor faked a smile and glared. “No, I don’t think so. I’m grateful that she chose to study here with me, just as I’m grateful to have met Fandral and Hogun and Jane, none of which I would have met without choosing to study here at a local university, but I can’t just turn my feelings on and off. It’s early days with me and Jane, but _if_ we decide to take things further in the long run -? I won’t let business hold me back.”

Loki smirked and reached for his wine glass. The non-alcoholic liquid swirled around the rim, while he held it just under his nose with a feigned elegance, and – as he took a long sip – he locked eyes with Thor with a narrowed gaze. Odin grunted, as he continued his meal with violent stabs at his meat and hunched shoulders. The sudden silence was awkward. Thor listened to every wet chewing sound and gulping swallow, while knives scraped on the ceramic plates, but soon the uncomfortable quiet was broken by Loki. He asked:

“Is that a new shirt, Thor?”

A foot nudged at his leg under the table. It was soft and freed from its shoe, so that the large toe could run up and down his jeans, and – as Thor tried to kick it away – it came back even higher, so that it could slide itself along his thigh to his crotch. Thor discreetly put his hand under the table; he tickled at Loki’s foot, causing it to jerk upright and crash against the tabletop, and – as the contents rattled – Loki swore and quickly retracted his foot. Odin quirked an eyebrow, but Thor distracted him by spitting a question back:

“What has that to do with anything?”

“It looks an awful lot like Donald’s,” murmured Loki.

“Who is Donald?” Odin asked.

Thor kicked Loki hard under the table. Loki jerked in his seat, before he reached down to rub at his leg and glare at him with cold green eyes. A foot shot back to stamp on his foot. Thor yelped and pulled back his leg, but – as he made to kick back – a pair of legs stretched out underneath the table and blocked his kick. Loki gave an expression of sheer horror. It was evident that a kick of his struck Odin, who glared at the two of them and silently warned them to behave. They could not continue their kicks with Odin’s legs in between.

“Donald is Jane’s ex-boyfriend,” said Thor. “That is all.”

“You are wearing his shirt?” Odin asked.

“They broke up once she came here.” Thor let out a hiss of breath. “He couldn’t handle the relationship being long-distance, so they broke up when he visited a while back. I got soaked in a rugby match, so Jane asked me to change so I wouldn’t catch cold, and she still had his shirt in her closest. I wore it and kept it. It’s a decent enough fit.”

“So she is still not over her ex?”

“That is _not_ what I said,” muttered Thor. “Why do you let Loki stir up trouble? If Jane had a boyfriend before me, who honestly cares? It’s not like you were a virgin before you met Mother. I hope you haven’t forgotten Fárbauti _that_ easily?”

Odin threw his fork across the table. The smash of metal against various plates echoed loudly about the air, while Thor winced and jerked away from where it bounced towards him, and Odin – with nostrils wide and face paled – pushed away from the table. He stood with an indecipherable expression. Those dry lips were pushed into a white line, while his good eye squinted with intense focus, and stormed away towards the lounge doors. Thor watched as long grey hair flew out behind him. The doors slammed shut with a heavy sound.

Frigga heaved a long sigh, as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Thor could not look her in the eyes, as he stared hard at the extra portions she stole for him, and he could only wince when she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. He watched her from the corner of his eyes, as she stood and smoothed her long skirts. Loki remained silent. It gave Thor a chance to collect his thoughts, even as his heart race. Frigga said:

“Thor, that was uncalled for.”

He said nothing. Frigga simply walked towards the lounge doors, where she disappeared in turn, and Thor was finally left alone with Loki, who continued to eat at his meal with an expression so passive that it was as if nothing happened. The fireplace behind them sat unused and empty, a purely decorative item in a house filled with central heating, and yet tending to the fire would have provided some distraction. Thor curled his lip and threw a pea at Loki, who simply raised an eyebrow and sighed in response. Thor asked:

“Why must you always cause trouble?”

“I only asked an innocent question,” said Loki.

“Innocent my ass!” Thor pointed in his direction. “You’re jealous of Jane! I’ve been back only a few hours, but already you’ve done everything in your power to break us up. Did you even think what would happen if I _did_ break up with her? You still live under Father’s roof, Loki. I still live in the dorms. It’s not as though I would be able to spend more time with you.”

“Well, it’s not as though you’d be able to spend any _less_ time with me, either,” spat Loki. “It’s only two more years before I attend university, too, and my grades are _far_ superior to yours, so I won’t have any problem getting into the same programme as you.”

“First years have to stay in dorms, Loki.”

“Okay, so you graduate and get your own place. I’ll move in for my second year and third year, after which I’ll have graduated with honours and can help you with rent. It’s not as though anyone will suspect we’re more than brothers. You admitted that you have feelings for me. You slept with me! Why settle for leftovers when you can have a hearty main course?”

Loki licked at the meat on his fork. He made a show of encasing it with his mouth, before he chewed with a long moan, and swallowed with head tilted back, while his eyes locked on Thor and he let out a long sigh with half-lidded eyes. Loki licked at his lips with a slow sweep of his tongue, while he fluttered his eyelashes and ran his fingertips over his throat, and Thor – with a growing tent down below – fidgeted in his seat and looked away. He picked at his food, even as it fell tasteless in his mouth with every bite.

“I want a family, Loki,” admitted Thor. “If I adopt or use a surrogate, I would have to do that alone with you forever just the ‘cousin’ to my child. We couldn’t adopt together. You couldn’t provide me with a biological heir. It’s not as though we could run away and raise them together, because Father would know and that would mean . . . disowning our family.”

“You think far too ahead.” Loki scoffed. “I’m sixteen, Thor. You’re eighteen. Why can’t we just commit to one another and see where things go? You have _nothing_ in common with Jane, while I certainly wish Grandfather would stop trying to set me up with Sigyn.”

“He would continue to try and set us up with different partners.”

“So if we are to suffer that either way -?”

Loki threw a potato in his direction. It struck the table and rolled onto the floor, where Thor kicked it back over with a smirk, and – as it hit Loki’s foot – he was half-reminded of the food fights when they were children, when Odin spanked Thor for pouring a trifle over Loki after the entire kitchen floor became coated with leftovers. Loki smiled and reached to wipe some gravy from his plate. He brought his finger to his lips. Thor watched while he sucked at the long digit, while he swirled his tongue around the tip with a soft sigh.

It was tempting to take him up on such an offer, but Thor – with a deep breath and audible swallow – stood from the dining room table. He rested his fingertips on the wood, while he closed his eyes and simply listened to the house around them, where the floorboards creaked with the heating above and Odin raved in the rooms beyond. Thor listened as phone vibrated on the kitchen table, while music played from the library, and Loki chuckled at nothing.

“I’m going back to my dorms,” said Thor.

Loki laughed. It was a cold and quiet sound, which echoed around the dining room, until – as his green eyes glanced to Thor – the realisation dawned and his face paled, while he stood in turn and clenched his hand tight around his steak knife. He leaned forward, enough that Thor was vaguely reminded of childhood fights. They locked eyes. Thor listened as doors slammed in the lounge, before silence descended about the house and only Loki’s breathing could be heard. There was a tremble to Loki’s voice, as he squeaked out:

“You were supposed to stay for the weekend.”

“What will you do if I stay?” Thor ran his hand through his hair. “Will you sneak into my rooms? Will you continue to play footsy at every meal? Will you still try to jack me off under the blanket during movie nights? I was _wrong_ to sleep with you, because _nothing_ can ever come from this relationship, and . . . it kills me inside. I want more.”

“Then _take_ more,” commanded Loki. “I will give it to you.”

“So Father can throw us out onto the streets?”

Thor marched around the table. He grabbed Loki by his upper arms and forced him in place, while he leaned low and pressed their foreheads to one another, and – as Loki mewled and cocked his head in search of a kiss – Thor stroked a path up his arm. He wrapped his hand around that soft throat, before he cupped his neck and rubbed at his jaw with a callused thumb. Thor blinked away his tears while he licked at his lips and whispered:

“I won’t let him disown you for my actions.”

“Let him disown me, Thor! I want _you_.”

Thor shook his head. He let go and stepped back. Loki reached out once more with long fingers and half-parted lips, but Thor could only grit his teeth and let the tears threaten to fall from his eyes, as he walked backward towards the lounge doors. The distance grew between them. The silence was uncomfortable as it lingered. Thor turned his back on Loki, as his hand fell on the cold metal of the doorknob. He knew his suitcase would still be in the hall, while his car still waited on the drive, and – as he threw open the door – he could only whisper:

“I’m sorry, Loki.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You are dead, Loki!”

Thor slammed the door shut.

It echoed about the bedroom suite, where Loki winced and stumbled back a few steps, and – as Thor glared through the total darkness – he could just about make out a black robe clutched tightly about a pale frame. Loki’s hands grasped at the cloth around his chest and waist, while long black hair curled free from products about his shoulder. A few candles sat lit on his bedside table. Incense drifted through the air. Thor hissed out a breath.

The rest of the house was silent; snores echoed from the master bedroom, while the refrigerator murmured within the kitchen, but otherwise there was only the rapid racing of his heart and the loud hisses through his nose. He clenched his hands. The knuckles turned white under the pressure, while crescent cuts appeared on his palms, and spots appeared in his vision from the stress and frustration. Thor raised a hand and jabbed a finger in Loki’s direction, even as Loki walked back until legs struck at the metal frame of his bed.

Thor ran a hand over bearded face, as he watched Loki with narrowed eyes. The phone in Thor’s jeans pocket buzzed over and over, while his bomber jacket half-fell off his shoulder, and the car keys in his other hand jingled with every gesture. He curled his lips and threw the jacket and keys to the floor, while he turned off his phone and threw that in turn. Loki said nothing. Thor drew in a deep breath, as he straightened his t-shirt and spat:

“Jane broke up with me.”

Loki barely held back an obvious smirk. He tightened the belt of his gown, before he folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side. Thor swallowed hard. It was obvious that beneath that silk . . . _barely held closed, so short that the inside of his thighs glistened in what little light remained_. . . he was naked and confident in his nudity, as he stretched out a long leg with bare toes toying with the carpet. Loki let out an exaggerated sigh, while he hummed long and low with a roll of his eyes. He asked:

“Oh? Am I supposed to be surprised?”

“You knew I was coming here, didn’t you?” Thor curled his lips. “Candles? Incense? Satin sheets? You couldn’t possibly think I would run into your arms after such a break-up! How did you even know I would come back here to deal with you? _How did you know_?”

“Jane changed her status to ‘single’,” confessed Loki. “You have GPS on your phone; I have access to the account, because you wanted to go backpacking around Europe for the summer before you left for university, and – while it did give us peace of mind – you never changed the passwords to your account. I saw you were driving home and prepared.”

“You actually _thought_ I would jump into bed with you?”

“Oh, _please_ , Thor! You slept with me the very _night_ before you left for university. You lay beside me and held me close and told me you loved me, but ever since then there has been this desperate need to find someone else . . . ‘ _it was a mistake’, ‘you’re too young’_. . . let me guess, she saw your little bite and dumped your ass? Well, now you have nothing to lose.”

Thor roared. Pain seared his throat. He stormed forward and shot out a callused hand; he grabbed Loki by his neck and yanked back his head until his throat was bared, while he pressed his chest against Loki’s and leaned down into his personal space. There was warm breath on his lips, while Loki panted and stared with wide-eyes, and together they remained locked together in absolute silence. Loki gripped at his t-shirt. It stretched and creased under his fists. Thor blinked away tears while he spat at Loki, saliva flying from his lips:

“Jane was my only shot at a normal life!”

Loki laughed long and hard. He loosened his grip on Thor’s shirt, only to lower his hands and take hold of the hem, and – slowly sliding the material upward – he bared the majority of Thor’s muscular chest and licked his lips. The soft pads of his thumb rubbed against his nipples, working them erect with shots of unwanted pleasure through him, while Loki chuckled and leaned closer. Thor let go of that neck. He let go of that hair. Loki whispered:

“Why settle for ‘average’ when you can have ‘amazing’?”

“This relationship is doomed to fail.”

“So you admit that this is a relationship, Thor?”

Thor cried out until his voice broke. He shoved hard. Loki crashed down against the mattress and bounced, while his gown slid down to reveal a nude shoulder and a slither of chest, and – as he gasped and stared wide-eyed – he crawled up the bed on all fours. He rolled onto his back, one leg partially raised and hands upward to clutch the headboard, while he licked at his lips and watched as Thor wrenched his shirt fully from his form.

The pounding of his heart blocked out all other noise, as Thor climbed onto the bed and crawled closer and closer to Loki, who – with all the seduction of an expert temptress – parted his legs and allowed Thor to settle between them. The gown kept his modesty, but it tented in a way that made Loki’s intentions clear. Thor glared. The adrenaline raced through every vein, while muscles tensed and bulged, and – with a cry of rage – he slammed a fist down just an inch from Loki’s face. It pounded the pillow. It caught his hair with a wince.

“Thor,” murmured Loki. “You’re scaring me.”

Thor leaned down. He saw dilated eyes and parted lips, both providing a welcome sight until Loki smirked and chuckled under his breath, and – as Thor closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against Loki – two hands let go of the spindles of the headrest. Loki slid his fingers down that muscled form, before unbuttoning those thick jeans and lowering the zip, and a warm palm slid itself into his underwear and freed his erection.

It brought a gasp to his lips. Thor rocked into that firm grip, where a soft thumb dipped into his slit and his hand twisted a little on every upward stroke, and – as pre-come streamed down his foreskin at an astounding rate – he groaned to feel Loki start to milk him, moving his fingers one after another as if _truly_ seeking to coax from him as much come as possible. Loki mumbled, while another hand cupped at his balls and rolled them in a manner that had Thor’s entire body shivering with desire. Thor pressed kisses to his neck.

“No,” said Thor. “I’m not scaring you.”

“No, you’re not . . .”

Loki let go of his member. Two hands spread open his gown, before dropping it gracefully to the floor beside the bed, and – as his eyes feasted over Loki’s body – Thor swore and struggled to removed his muddy boots before they continued. There followed a loud thud. Another. Thor settled back between those legs and ran his hands over a perfectly toned body, closely examining every mole and stretch-mark and bruise. Loki was perfect.

The scars on his forehead darkened under the candlelight, while his torso looked like porcelain in the low light, and his member stood out so thick and long, with a throbbing vein along the underside and a few stray drops of pre-come from the flared head. He was shaved. It gave the impression that everything was bigger, along with Loki so much younger, and it added a sense of forbidden thrill, while Thor groaned and leaned down to suckle at an erect nipple. Loki buried his hands into Thor’s hair with a cry of desire.

Loki was flushed red with desire. He gripped hard at Thor’s hair, yanking until some came loose from the roots, while he wrapped his legs around Thor’s waist and pressed the heels of his feet beneath round and firm buttocks. Their members pressed flush, although Thor cursed in embarrassment that his lacked in comparison. He flicked and rubbed and pulled at the nipple not currently trapped beneath teeth and tongue, while Loki writhed and rutted against him with loud pants and quiet mewls. He was as vocal as their first time.

Those hands pulled him upward, until clumsy lips pressed against him. Thor laughed. It was clear that Loki still needed practise, with teeth clashing against him and occasional unpleasant slurping sounds, but he was sincere . . . _passionate_. . . a quick learner. He ran his hands over Thor’s buttocks, gripping hard and pulling him against him, while a tongue slid out and soon their kiss was deep and left both breathless. Loki whispered:

“Put it in, please. Put it in.”

Thor swore and slid his hand low. There was wetness between Loki’s legs, too much for sweat and too unnatural to be anything else, and yet – as he teased at the hole open before him – it was all so loose and soft. He slid a finger in to the knuckle. No resistance. The inner walls were hot and ridged, while the uncomfortable pulse could be felt around his invading digit, and a second finger slid in with equal lack of resistance. It was wet inside. It reminded him that he needed lubrication, but there was none to be found. Thor gasped out:

“You’re already prepared?”

“I started as soon as I saw her status change,” confessed Loki. “The past half-an-hour I’ve spent with all four fingers and half-a-tub of lubrication inside me, and I have to say that it _pales_ in comparison to the real thing. I shouldn’t bleed or bruise this time. This time you can go as hard as you want without worry. You were _awful_ at preparation.”

“We rushed last time.” Thor licked at his lips. “Next time? Let’s make preparation into foreplay. Let me finger you, suck you, stroke you . . . let me make you come undone and grow hard all over, before I finally fuck you and make you melt beneath me.”

“N-No dirty talk. I’m – I’m close enough as it stands.”

“Believe me, that wasn’t dirty talk.”

Thor chuckled and moved further down. He sat upright, so that he could look between Loki’ spread legs and see the winking hole clenching around his fingers, and – as he growled in possessive lust – he adjusted his member and placed the head against Loki. It was the hardest part to fit inside, but it slid with barely any resistance. Loki arched his back and shot his hands out for the headboard, where he opened his mouth into a wide ‘O’ and scrunched closed his eyes, and Thor licked at his lips at such an erotic sight.

He slid in to the hilt. Blond pubic hair tickled at those buttocks. Loki arched his back so much that it looked as if it would snap, while Thor leaned low to wrap arms around him, and – as he struggled to breathe through the pleasure – he placed chaste kisses to Loki’s chest. It brought a mumbled laugh to Loki’s lips, at how gentle and brotherly Thor could act even during sexual acts, and he reached down to stroke at his hair. Thor gaped in wonder:

“Fuck, babe. You’re so tight.”

Loki pulled at Thor’s head, enough to kiss him once more. Thor moaned in pleasure, while those soft hands ran over his back and raked nails down his flesh, and Loki kept his legs tight around his waist and bucked up in an attempt to seek more friction. They locked eyes. They laughed. There was nothing particularly funny, but somehow Thor wept through his laughter and looked into those green eyes with an open-mouthed smile, and he knew . . . _he loved Loki_. . . he licked at his lips and kissed Loki again in earnest.

“Move.” Loki gasped between kisses. “ _Move_!”

Thor pulled out almost to the head. He slammed back inside. Loki raked his nails hard down his back, drawing out long lines of blood, while he bucked his hips in time to the thrusts, and – together – they entered a fast and regular rhythm. The moans and groans from Loki were loud and broken, with each one interrupting their kisses, so soon they were pressed mouth-to-mouth with clumsy licks and suckles without any grace or elegance.

“That’s the spot,” moaned Loki. “There!”

“Does that silver tongue of yours ever turn to lead, Loki?”

“Fuck me hard enough and maybe we’ll find out.”

Thor rose to the challenge. He pounded harder and harder, until neither could properly breathe, and a heavy sweat broke over their skin, until both were red and Thor’s jeans fell with the moisture to clung uncomfortably mid-thigh. The metal headboard smashed against the wall, while the bedsprings squeaked audibly beneath them, and every thrust brought a squelch of lubrication and the sound of testicles on buttocks. Thor choked on saliva, bringing another laugh from Loki who slapped at his buttock. Thor asked:

“Does it hurt at all?”

“Discomfort . . . pleasure . . . good. _Fucking good_!”

Thor moved harder and faster. He accidentally exited Loki on occasion, drawing a few chuckles and impatient whines, while he repositioned his member and tried again, and Loki was clenching around him . . . inner walls fluttering . . . so tight, so hot . . . it was nothing like Jane, while Loki was so passionate and vocal and happy to mark him. Loki screamed. It pierced Thor’s ears and tore at Loki’s throat, while his head bent back at a strange angle.

The walls contracted around his member. Ropes of come shot from Loki’s cock. Thor felt the pulses of liquid against his stomach, while Loki shivered and shuddered underneath him, and – as Loki choked and gasped – silence descended and those legs fell limp on either side. Loki rolled his head to the side, eyes rolled back into his head. He was thoroughly fucked. Thor could not stand the sight, as he growled long and low and came deep inside Loki, rutting into him and holding him tight. The come leaked around the sides of his length.

It was an intense pleasure. Every nerve came alive, while his vision turned white, and all muscles turned to mush with an intense relaxation, as if every ounce of stress fled his body and left him only with his beloved nephew in his arms. Thor collapsed against Loki. The ecstasy of his orgasm slowly fading from him, while he closed his eyes and let his now half-limp member stay lodged inside Loki. He ignored the sound of the door clicking open.

“What is going on here?”

Thor groaned as light flooded the bedroom. It stung his eyes and forced him to rapidly blink, as he strove to adjust his vision, but – as he slowly recovered his senses – he saw Odin stood in the doorway clad only in a nightshirt. He was pale. The good eye was wide and his chest was puffed out with a held breath, and his hands were clenched into tight fists, while his lip curled on sight of Thor on top of a Loki barely coming around to consciousness. A cold sweat washed over Thor, as a terrible realisation tore at his stomach. He whispered out a rushed:

“Holy fuck!”

Bile burned at the back of his throat, while Loki came around, and – as he clamoured to get away from Loki – he quickly stuffed his wet member back into his jeans and snatched at the blankets at the foot of the bed. He threw them with trembling hands over Loki’s body, while Loki cried out in fear and crawled to the corner of the bed with blankets now clutched around his naked and sweat-soaked form. They both looked to Odin in terror.

Thor was on the verge of hyperventilating, as he ran to the ottoman at the base of the bed, where he threw a neatly folded pile of clothes to Loki and gestured to him to get changed, while Odin stepped further and further inside the room. Thor threw up his hands in mock surrender. He blinked away tears, while he walked in a strange semi-circle away from the bed, while never once taking his eyes away from Odin, and – thankfully – Odin followed him with a curl of his lip and panted breath. Thor let a tear fall, as he trembled out:

“I can explain –”

“You can explain?” Odin asked in a low voice. “You can explain why my teenage grandson lies ravished in his bed by his _uncle_ of all people? You can explain this to me? You, Thor, have broken a sacred trust and soiled your nephew! _This is why you should have stayed away_! Do you know what you have done? Do you care what laws you have broken?”

“I – I didn’t plan to make love to him, I swear!” Thor glanced to Loki, already half-dressed and still racing to completion. “If you have to get angry at anyone, get angry at me and me alone, Father. Loki told me it was wrong. He spurned my advances.”

“He is sixteen, Thor! _You vain, greedy, cruel boy_!”

“I – I apologise. I’m sorry, Father.”

Odin stormed forward, forcing Thor to stumble further backwards. He raised his hands once more, only for Odin to slap them hard out of the way, and – with a huge push – knocked Thor back against the wall where the force knocked the wind from him. Odin let out such a loud and incoherent snarl that spit was sent flying at Thor’s face, forcing him to turn his head and closed his eyes. His heart raced. His hands shook. Odin leaned so close into his personal space that he could see nothing else except those reddened cheeks.

“ _You dared to take advantage of Loki?_ ”

“Loki,” called Thor. “Go to Sif’s!”

Odin grabbed Thor by the throat. It was a white-hot rage that he never before saw in his father, but he simply grasped and scratched at the wrinkled skin while he choked for breath, and – as he struggled to defend himself . . . unwilling to harm the man that gave him life . . . he listened for Loki. He was scrambling about the room. He grabbed the keys from the floor. It was clear he was debating whether to leave or fight back. Thor screamed out:

“ _Now, Loki. Go_!”

Loki did not need to be told twice. He ran.


	5. Chapter 5

It was small.

Loki expected dormitories similar to the American shows. There was enough room for a single bed and a large desk, with perhaps a foot of space between, and – other than that – an _en suite_ that consisted of a cramped shower cubicle with a toilet and sink. The kitchen appeared to be shared and further down the corridor, while the décor all around made him feel as if he stepped inside an IKEA catalogue. He fought the urge to curl his lip.

Sif sat cross-legged on a chair beside the desk, with her black hair loose over her shoulders, and the long t-shirt – that barely kept her modesty – looked a lot like Fandral’s in style, enough that it made it clear where her heart resided. The photos that lined the walls were mostly of Thor and Loki, as well as Fandral, but a smaller collection was steadily growing . . . Hogun and Volstagg, an overseas student and mature student respectively, smiled from the wall where the photographs were tacked on in a haphazard manner.

It was as if Loki were expelled from their childhood group.

He looked away from the faces of the two newcomers. The bedroom was dark and lit only by the bathroom light, as well as a cheap lamp on the table that illuminated Sif from the side and cast shadows on the side of her face. Loki glanced down into the cup of tea in his hands, still warm as the ceramic scalded his flesh a deep red, and he narrowed his eyes to watch the puffs of steam rise from the milky brown liquid. Sif let out a low hiss of breath, while Loki’s phone buzzed incessantly from his pocket. He swirled the tea in his hands. Sif asked:

“You _slept_ together?”

Loki winced. The ache in his behind made it painful to sit, even as he adjusted his weight on the bed, and he was well aware of the bruises on his hips and bite-marks around his areolas, even if they were hidden behind layers of clothes. He blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, while his heart raced in his chest and he struggled to find breath. The cramped room added to a claustrophobic sensation. He thought back to how Odin looked so furious, while he struggled to dress and run from the house, and now he looked to Sif . . . so _disgusted_. . .

The fear lingered that Odin might press charges. It was unlikely, as it would decimate their family reputation and reduce their businesses to ashes, but still he saw the curl of Sif’s lip and the narrowing of her eyes, and he knew . . . he knew they could never be public with their relationship, at least in a city where everyone knew them. Loki pursed his lips and licked them to rid them of the dryness, while he said through a choked voice:

“I worry that Grandfather will disown him.”

“Loki, you’re the only one that can help Thor now.” Sif winced and shook her head. “You must go to your grandfather and convince him to change his mind. He will listen to you! He has always been protective of you, ever since I can remember.”

“What can I say without knowing what story Thor has weaved? Thor appeared to be taking the full weight of the blame when I left, so if I go in now . . . it will only look like I’m lying to protect my uncle. No, I need to wait to see what Thor said. If I can go into this prepared, perhaps I can work out a plan to save _both_ our skins. We are in this together.”

“I fear that may well be the issue,” muttered Sif.

Loki ignored the bitter tone. He sipped at the tea, which scalded his tongue and burned his throat; the taste provided a distraction, while – with a long sigh – Sif swung her legs onto the floor and fumbled around beneath the desk. He watched as she pulled out a bottle of wine. The hiss that escaped his lips was audible, enough to wrench a raising of the eyebrows from Sif, but she said nothing as she fished out two glasses and gestured to him with one. He shook his head and prepared to decline, but the objection had no time to leave his lips.

There was a knock at the door.

The door opened without waiting for consent. Thor stood towering in the doorway, with light from the corridor streaming behind him, and – without a word – he slammed shut the door and marched towards the bed. He threw himself hard onto the mattress, with no regard for Loki and without even a long enough gaze to see who sat beside him, and he simply kicked off his boots and curled into a half-foetal position, while he grunted a strange sound.

Loki shared a look with Sif. Sif simply shrugged and poured the wine with a yawn, while glancing less than covertly towards the clock, and – with its glow-in-the-dark hands – Loki winced to realise that it would be easier to stay awake than to attempt sleep. He reached out to Thor and touched his leg. Thor jerked it away. It was difficult to sit so helplessly beside him, even as Loki carefully slid his cup onto the windowsill, but he smiled weakly as Thor buried his face into Sif’s pillows and used all his strength to tease:

“It went that well?”

Thor rolled over onto his back. It was difficult to see his expression through the shadows, but the bruise about his cheek was harder to miss . . . the white of his left eye was bright red, while a deep cut ran over his eyebrow, and the skin around his cheekbone was a hideous shade of blue and purple. The area was swollen, enough that he appeared to squint in an attempt to see the world around him. Loki’s stomach rolled. Tears rose.

“Jesus, Thor,” gasped Sif.

Sif grabbed a flannel from the desk; she ran to the bathroom, where there was a hiss of water, and ran back while still wringing the flannel, so that water spilled all over the tiled floor, and – with an almost violent gesture – threw herself beside Thor. The flannel was folded into neat quarters, before she draped it lightly over his eyes. He cried out in pain. Loki held tight to his legs, as if seeking to keep him in place as his back arched and swears escaped his lips, but Thor soon fell back with panted breaths and soft chuckles. Loki whispered:

“Did _he_ do this to you, Thor?”

“He disowned me,” muttered Thor. “He disowned me, before he threatened to cut me off. I laughed at him. I told him that everyone takes out student loans here, that they would cover me through my entire education, and that I didn’t need his money. He asked what I will do through the holidays . . . where I will stay, how I will survive . . .”

“Fandral’s parents rented us a place by the river,” said Sif. “You can stay with us during the summer, but everyone moves out of dorms for their second year anyway. I’ll make sure that you find somewhere to stay. You won’t be homeless, I swear.”

“He’s given me a week to pick up my stuff.”

“Helblindi is in town,” added Loki. “Whether he wishes to call himself my ‘uncle’ or ‘brother’ is beyond me, but he does seek desperately to have a friendship with me. I am more than happy to pull some strings and have him help us drag your belongings to Sif’s place. It can stay there until you get a place of your own. It’ll be a day job at most.”

Thor laughed until he cried. It was a broken sound, made all the more awkward by the sense of helplessness that came with it, and – as Loki swallowed back a painful lump – he stroked at Thor’s legs and massaged at his calves. Sif stroked at his hair, while she kept her head low and avoided their gazes. Music blared from another room. It was heavy with a fast beat, while someone laughed from the hallway, and the idea that life could go on . . . that people could smile while Thor so suffered . . . broke something inside Loki. Sif whispered:

“Do we call the police or –?”

Thor raised a hand and attempted to shake his head. The movement brought a hiss of breath, as he clasped his hand over the compress and winced, but he otherwise showed no further sign of pain even as he paled. Loki continued to knead at his legs, desperate for something to distract himself and help Thor in any small way, while he kept his head low and fought back tears that blurred his vision and stung his eyes. Thor muttered back in a quiet voice:

“If we report him, he will report me.”

“You mean us?” Loki asked.

“No, Loki.” Thor shrugged. “I took the blame. I told him that I have been trying to seduce you since you turned sixteen, and that you kept rejecting me and rejecting me, until I cornered you last night and pressured you into agreement. That’s when he hit me. He told me the only reason he wouldn’t report me is that you technically consented, but if he ever saw me near you again -? He’d call the police and have me arrested.”

“Can he do that?” Loki asked. “Isn’t it -?”

“You took my car to get here.” Thor smirked and let a tear fall. “I’m glad we got you that provisional license and some lessons. Anyway, I took a cab over here. It gave me time to look some stuff up; apparently uncle-nephew incest isn’t illegal here, _except_ when one of you is a minor, as it’s a breach of trust . . . age of consent be damned.”

“I think you misunderstood that law. I looked this up, Thor; I think the punishment would be _harsher_ for you with me as a minor, but I’m sure it’s illegal either way. The good news is that I’m sure we can be openly together in the Netherlands or Belgium.”

“Regardless of legality,” Sif said, “what happens now?”

Thor struggled to sit upright. He leaned against a cushioned headboard, while he rested one leg and arm along the wall that ran long the bed, and – with a hand on the compress – struggled to look between them with his one good eye. Loki knew Thor’s room was only a few doors down, but even that short distance would be difficult for him to travel with the sheer fatigue that shone through every tensed muscle. Thor’s lips trembled. He drew in a shaking breath and swallowed hard, before he said in a low voice:

“I guess now I accept I have no family.”

Loki reached out for his foot, where he massaged the bare flesh. It was free from any bruises or blisters, but the tension was apparent and the exhaustion clear, so that every inch he worked on brought low moans from Thor. Sif sighed and walked back to her desk. The books piled besides folders spoke of devotion to her studies, while the timetable pinned to her wall spoke of someone who scheduled even sleep. Loki smiled and looked back to Thor.

“You have me,” swore Loki.

“A secret relationship with my nephew?”

“He’ll never know, Thor.” Loki blinked away tears. “We’ll keep our physical distance, at least until I turn eighteen, and we’ll just message and video-chat every day. Look, I swear to you that I’ll stick with you come hell or high water, and I won’t let you go through this alone, so just tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it. I’m by your side.”

“Right now, Loki? I just need a drink . . . a _lot_ of drinks.”

“I’ve got you covered,” chirped Sif.

Sif poured the wine to fill the two glasses to the brim, where the red liquid threatened to spill at the slightest jolt, and – as a terrible nausea coursed through Loki – his hands gripped hard on Thor’s feet until Thor cried out in pain. Loki let go of him. He wrapped trembling arms around his chest, while Sif wandered over and handed Thor a glass of wine that smelled delicious and looked like blood. Thor caught Loki’s expression and mumbled:

“You need to go home, Loki.”

Loki blinked in surprise. He widened his eyes and opened his mouth, before he curled his lip and looked between them with half-squinted eyes. Thor gulped down the wine, even as Sif sipped with elegant grace, and – surprising even her – he slammed the glass down on the table and barked out: ‘ _another’_. Sif walked back to the desk, where she came back and poured another glass for him. It would clearly be a long night. Loki clenched his fists by his sides, as he drew in a deep intake of breath and watched Thor swallow some more. Loki spat:

“You can’t be serious!”

“He thinks you’re the innocent pawn,” said Thor. “You need his money. You get shelter, food, phone bills paid, computers provided, school trips funded . . . why should both of us suffer? I’m also afraid if you try to leave, he’ll press charges like he’s threatened. Let’s just wait until you turn eighteen, okay? Just play the part of an obedient son until then.”

“You expect me to go back to the man who _struck_ you?” Loki gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. “You need to get your eye looked at, Thor. You also need someone to make sure you don’t drink yourself into an early grave. Is this how you’ll cope? Wine and tears?”

“Loki, I love you, but I will not see you suffer! Go home.”

“How can I leave after you were so badly hurt?”

“He’s liable to report you as missing.”

Loki winced. The terrible truth was that Odin would likely report him as missing, which would have led to police intervention and possibly an investigation, and – unwilling to bring further pain down on Thor – he stood to shaky feet and let his eyes blur with tears. Thor would not meet his gaze. Instead, he looked down into the wine and let deep lines mar his brow while he gnawed at his lip. The compress leaked water down his cheek.  

Loki gently pushed past Sif, as he crouched on the side of the bed. He placed a chaste kiss to the compress, before he pressed another to Thor’s lips, and – despite his pain – Thor parted his lips in turn and allowed the kiss to linger. They shared a warm breath, while eyes met and tears streamed from Thor’s good eye. Loki kissed away each and every one. It took all his strength to pull away and walk those few steps to the desk, where he glared at the wine bottle with the taste of bile at the back of his throat. Thor choked out:

“Leave my keys here.”

“How will I get back home?”

“Wake up Fandral,” said Thor. “Tell him that he owes me for last Saturday. He’ll complain and grumble, so just slip him five pounds as a ‘thank you’, and he’ll drive you home while bitching about me the entire time. Tell Father you’re sorry. He’ll forgive you.”

The room grew cold around them. Loki let out a staggered breath, as he dropped the car keys onto the table beside Sif’s textbooks, and licked at the salty tears that collected on his lips, before he realised that he was crying through his pain. He laughed and wiped at his face. Thor fished around his pockets and withdrew a five pound note, reaching out to Loki so that he could take it for the necessary bribe. Their fingers touched, where they paused with a spark of electricity, and each smiled a sad and empty smile. Loki whispered to him:

“I love you, Thor.”

Loki took the money and walked with head low. He moved to Sif’s door and paused with hand on the doorknob, where his trembling fingers held tight for something to ground them, and – as he briefly closed his eyes – he forcibly slowed his breaths. The air burned his throat, while tears gathered in his eyes, and yet he knew Thor would want him to return home. Fandral was a five-minute walk away in another building, but it was safer than any other alternative. Thor groaned from the bed and finally called back:

“I love you, too, Loki.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Loki, you are home.”

Frigga ran straight for him. Those warm arms encircled him, as they held him tight, and the scent of perfume flooded his senses. Frigga buried her face into the crook of his neck, while tears sprang at the corners of her eyes, so that – as he rested his hands on her back – he felt every wracked sob and choked breath. He blinked away tears in turn, as he let out a shuddered sigh and held her tight in turn. The warmth of her body comforted him.

He noted the long gown on her frame, while her hair hung loose about her shoulders. There were bags underneath her eyes, while her cheeks were pale and sunken, and – as she pulled back with a small sniff – he knew that for her it was likely a sleepless night. The lights were low in the hall, but the sunrise was starting to creep through the arched windows above the main doors, so that long shadows were cast across the hall towards the main staircase. They stole his attention and forced him to look upward. Odin stood tall and alone.

There was a great sense of solemn resignation. He stood with hair long and loose, with a matching gown to Frigga covering his body and white in design, and – with a golden eye-patch – there was something otherworldly about his appearance. Odin slowly walked down the stairs and kept his gaze locked on Loki; Frigga pulled away with a few more sniffles and shaky smiles, as she ran her hands over Loki’s black hair and pale cheeks.

“Loki,” whispered Odin. “My boy. My grandson.”

He gently reached out for Loki, while Frigga stepped back. Two surprisingly firm and muscled arms pulled him against a hard chest and growing belly, while the wrinkles of age bore several tearstains in turn, as he silently wept on sight of Loki. The hug was less comfortable than the last, but the intent was clear . . . Frigga sought to comfort, Odin sought to protect . . . he held with strength and locked his arms into place. He held tight.

Loki kept rigid, until Odin finally pulled back. He saw no trace of the man who blackened Thor’s eye, although there was still a faint red mark across his knuckles, and he wondered whether that old skin would bruise from the impact. Odin caught his gaze. He frowned and slapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder, preventing him from staring at his hand, and – with a gentle squeeze – nodded to the direction of the lounge doors. Odin took a few steps towards the lounge, while pulling Loki along with him. He kept a weak smile on his lips.

“Let us talk,” said Odin.

They headed inside the lounge. The couch was made up with a blanket and many cushions, while a tall glass of water sat on the low table, and – as Loki sat at the far end – he realised Frigga likely slept downstairs while waiting for his return. The armchair opposite equally held a blanket, where Odin sat with the fabric bending beneath him and wrinkling from the pressure, while he ran a hand over bearded chin and jaws. Frigga took a seat beside Loki, as she leaned into the cushions and let forth a low sigh with eyes that threatened to close.

The clocked ticked loudly from the mantelpiece. Loki chanced a look through the low lighting, made worse by the heavy drapes and closed windows, to realise it was so early that it crossed over into ‘late’. In an hour or two, Odin would have been awake for a day of business meetings and various correspondences. Odin cleared his throat. He drew in a deep breath, while he looked to Loki and asked in a low and deep voice:

“Did you consent?”

Thor’s story ran through Loki’s mind. He clenched his fists by his sides, until his knuckles turned white with the pressure, and – with slow breaths – he strove to still his racing heart, even as it pulsed loudly in his ears. Loki ran his eyes over Odin, where he saw the way that jaw clenched and how that eye shimmered. He was caught somewhere between anger and sorrow. He was conflicted between anger at Thor and grief for Loki. Loki licked and gnawed at his lip, as he sank back into the sofa cushions and coldly said:

“Does it matter?”

“Oh, my love,” called Frigga. “Of course it matters.”

“We’ve always held some mutual attraction,” muttered Loki. “I resisted for as long as I could, but he insisted that we would be good together . . . I didn’t want to make love to him, but he kept insisting and insisting and insisting . . . I didn’t say ‘yes’, but I didn’t say ‘no’ either. I just wanted him to feel good and to maybe leave me alone. That’s all.”

“You must cut all ties with him,” commanded Odin. “I have already lost one child, Loki, but to lose two further and have lost all in total? No. You must be aware that this is illegal. If Thor is uncovered, he would be arrested and charged. Do you not see this to be wrong?”

“Of course,” lied Loki. “That is why we said our goodbyes.”

“He accepted that? Loki, if you were to grow up and enter a relationship with him, no matter whether he pressured you or you felt obliged -? If the law were to see it as consensual, you would also be subject to the full weight of the law. That is the truth of the situation.”

“Your father is right,” added Frigga. “If you have truly cut ties now, all can be well for both you and for Thor. He can move on with life, perhaps find a wife who will sate his needs, and he can grow to have a family and a career. It can be the same for you. If you allow a relationship to continue, either one or both of you shall risk imprisonment.”

Odin leaned forward. He rested his forearms on his knees, as he bent his back and lowered his head, and – as he drew in a deep breath – the exhaustion deepened the lines about his face, aging him in such a way that Loki felt pain to look at him. Frigga reached out to touch on Loki’s arm with her fingertips, but she half-lay against the cushions and her body was fatigued, so that her touch barely connected. Odin in turn half-raised his head, so his gaze met Loki’s face and yet did not quite meet his eyes. Odin said in a whisper:

“There is also the issue of an abuse of trust.”

“He didn’t abuse my trust,” spat Loki.

“You are too young to see it, but yes . . . he did.” Odin ran a hand over his face. “He was your uncle, Loki. He was two years your elder, as well as a legal adult. He experienced life beyond your experiences. It was his duty to say ‘no’ and his responsibility to avoid coercion. One day you may experience trauma from this event. It is why I seek for you to attend therapy.”

“Therapy? You think I need a _therapist_?”

“It will help you to cope, Loki,” said Frigga in a soft voice. “You will learn to process what happened, as well as to find closure from events, and they will be able to teach you coping mechanisms should this provide the trauma that could well occur. If you will not go for yourself, I ask that you go for me. Humour me, Loki. Go to therapy.”

Loki scoffed and furrowed his brow. The tears burned at his eyes, although they refused to fall, and they blurred his vision and stung with the sweat. He choked back on the saliva that collected in his throat, while he thought to the inevitable therapy . . . _judged for the actions of his family, patronised about an act to which he consented, told what to think and how to feel and who to socialise . . ._ Loki looked to the photographs on the walls. How long until the ones of Thor were torn down or lost, just like those of Hela? Loki asked:

“Why do you prefer me over Thor?”

Odin jerked his head back, as he blinked rapidly. He looked between Loki and Frigga, while Frigga took her hand away from Loki, and – as she clasped her hands on her lap – she kept her head low and refused to make eye-contact with either man. The lack of communication almost brought laughter to Loki’s lips. It was just like his family to deny or hide from all difficult topics, even when those same topics threatened to destroy them all.

“I do not play favourites,” said Odin.

“You do,” answered Loki. “I want to know _why_.”

Odin stood and walked over to the windows. He drew back the drapes, so that the sunrise slowly provided some light through the netting over the garden wall, and shadows were cast about the lounge with an intensity that only added to the eerie atmosphere. Loki gnawed at his lips, as tears finally fell and Frigga – with a loud gasp of ‘no’ – sat upright and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He allowed her to pull him close, while his chest hurt and stomach contracted. He tasted bile at the back of his throat, as Odin finally admitted:

“I see Hela in you, Loki.”

“My mother?”

“Aye.” Odin swallowed hard. “I thought that I would hate you, at least at first. You were the blood of Laufey, the man that stole away my wife and was my rival in business, and for a while I loathed you for seeing him in your expressions. You bore his high cheekbones and large brow, as well as his frowns and his smirks, and I feared you would become like him. I still wanted to protect you, but you were more a pawn in our continuous game.

“Little did I know that I would love you, Loki. I saw you smile one day, which was a smile so exactly alike your mother that I laughed, and I remembered all the good times we shared and the bad times we endured, before – that is – she began an affair with her step-father to torment me and get revenge upon me for my changed ways. I saw her in you.

“I saw all that she could have been . . . might have been . . .”

“She died a drunk who _scarred_ my forehead.”

Loki cried in earnest, even as his heart raced with rage. He tried to pull away from Frigga, but she pressed his head against her shoulder and stroked at his black hair, and Odin – with a shake of his head – moved back to his chair and slumped down with muttered complaints. It was difficult to breathe. Loki choked on the air, as he gulped back the rising sickness, and all the while he thought to Hela . . . he saw the few surviving photographs, he saw the police reports and newspaper clippings, he saw the obituary . . . Odin broke his thoughts with:

“Hela died a broken woman. I broke her.”

“Husband,” said Frigga, “I –”

“No, I do not require sympathies.” Odin wiped away a tear. “I once led a life of organised crime, in which she was deeply involved, and that was a mistake I would always come to regret, as she never could accept my changed ways when I met your grandmother. Frigga showed me right from wrong, as well as the importance of patience and respect, and – while I am far from perfect – each day I live a legitimate lifestyle -? I am happy.

“I should have forced Hela into therapy. I should have twisted her arm into rehab. I should have been more present in her life, as I lead her away from Laufey and Fárbauti. Instead, I chastised and criticised and demanded she change as I changed, but change cannot be forced and must come from within. Do you know why she scratched you, Loki? Did I tell you?”

“I never asked,” said Loki. “You had no reason to tell me.”

“Loki, she sought to take you and raise you alone. I prevented her, due to how drunk and dangerous she acted, but – even in the worst of her states – you were the _first and foremost_ thing in her mind. Hela snatched out to take you, just as I turned to protect you, and she accidentally caught at your forehead. It was unforgiveable, but it was understandable. It is also what caused her to start the fire. Hela loved you, Loki.”

A cold silence lingered. The only sounds were that of Loki’s sobs and Frigga’s hushed sounds of comfort, while Odin let out long hisses of breath, and – as they all sat together in a shared pain – Loki heard his phone buzz from within his pocket. It would be Thor or Fandral, but to answer at that time would be to alert Odin to their sworn loyalty and sustained contact. He ignored the call. He drew in deep breaths and pulled away from Frigga, as he wiped at his eyes and tried not to look at the concern writ across her features. Loki sighed.

“It is why I must protect you,” said Odin. “Thor has Frigga. Thor has Sif and Fandral who came here from Iceland to be with him, just as he has Hogun and Volstagg who he has fast become friends, and yet . . . you have no one. You keep to yourself. You were home-schooled most of your life. I failed my daughter, but I will do right by my grandson. I will shun Thor if it means to protect you. You will always be my priority, Loki.”

“You would protect me to protect some _monster_?” Loki curled his lip. “My so-called mother would have preferred a tumbler of whiskey to a moment with me, but yet I am supposed to consider her the victim? Helblindi calls himself my brother, but Býleistr my uncle, and yet _both_ are correct . . . she caused that confusion. She tangled our family trees. _She_ did that!”

“Loki, I will not deny that –”

“Maybe I am like her?” Loki blinked away tears with a cold laugh. “Here I am sleeping with Thor despite our familial ties . . . here I’m breaking up our family . . . all I need is a half-finished bottle of wine in hand to complete the image. How can you claim to love me when I’m so much like her? Will you hate me, too? Will you hate me as I hate me?”

Loki raised a hand to his lips.

The words could not be unspoken. He widened his eyes and opened his mouth wide, while he looked between them with a cold sweat that broke over his skin . . . it ran like ice, uncomfortable and with a needle-like pain . . . he let out several gasps, before a broken laugh emitted from his throat and he shook his head. Frigga reached out to him. He slapped away her hand. Loki climbed to his feet, as he paced back and forth with all eyes on him, while his hand moved to his phone that buzzed over and over. Loki said through his laughter:

“Shit . . . maybe I do need a therapist, after all.”

Frigga stood to her feet; far younger than Odin, there was no sign of a tremble or bone deep ache, and she stepped forward with a grace and speed that he lacked. Loki swung around and stumbled backward a few steps. Frigga froze and raised her hands in mock surrender, while he curled his lip and stared hard at Odin. Odin remained silent with eye fixated on the floor, no longer making any movement and no longer speaking a word. Frigga begged:

“Loki, please, you need to –”

“I’m going to my room,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to check on me. I’m not going to drink myself into a stupor or burn down the house, but just . . . leave me alone. Please, I just need time to think. Thor’s gone. I’m here. I just . . . need to think. I’m sorry.”

Loki ran out of the lounge. The sun was coming up high, so that the hall was lit bright, and he took the stairs two at a time, with his shadow thrown long and deep over the stairwell, as he tried to keep the tears at bay. He threw himself into his room; the door slammed shut with a loud crash, while the scent of extinguished candles and heavy sweat still lingered in the air, and he laughed to see the wrinkled sheets and a few spots of blood over by the far wall. It must have been where Thor was struck. There was even a tear on the wallpaper.

He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen . . . _‘fandral says he saw you go inside’, ‘let me know how father reacted’, ‘if he’s being violent then call me’, ‘why aren’t you answering’, ‘i’m worried loki’, ‘tell me you’re okay’_. . .  Loki laughed and wiped away a tear, as he resisted the urge to chastise Thor’s grammar. He struggled to text back, as fingers trembled and sweat made the phone slip in his hand, but with all his strength he typed out:

_‘Thor, I wish you were here.’_

Loki quickly changed the background to his phone. The photograph was taken during their last family vacation, set on the backdrop of the Tokyo cityscape, and – as they wrapped their arms around one another – both bore bright smiles of laughter that brought tears to their eyes, while the camera shook just slightly with Frigga’s laughter in turn. Loki smiled, even as his lips shook and his chest tightened. The screen soon went dark. The photograph disappeared, while the despair and grief finally washed over Loki. He could do nothing else.

Loki wept.


	7. Chapter 7

Loki kicked at a stray bottle.

It rolled across the lounge, where it knocked Fandral’s foot. Fandral jumped awake from his chair, while an array of supposedly ‘humorous’ items fell from his chest and face, and – realising that his friends had made a balancing game from his sleeping form – he frowned and wiped away the ink from his cheeks. There were food wrappers strewn across the floor, along with random items of clothing hanging from pieces of furniture.

Fandral stood and cricked his neck. The beard on his face was slightly longer, grown over the past year into a more fashionable style, while the calendar behind him bore large crosses to mark down the days to the start of their second year at university. A final celebration . . . _laughter from the spare room from a strange couple, the stench of alcohol soaked into the carpets, a broken microwave still emitting smoke_. . . Loki curled his lip and hugged his leather coat tightly around his chest, unwilling to touch a single item.

The house was still packed with boxes in the lounge. Loki read the labels, as he noticed most belonged to Thor and contained a lifetime of possessions, while a small few were labelled in Jane’s handwriting and destined for the new study located downstairs. If Thor continued to throw such parties, the deposit paid only two weeks ago would be null-and-void. Loki kicked at a bent can of beer that leaked from the popped tab. Fandral muttered out:

“I don’t suppose you want a drink?”

Volstagg let out a loud and bellowing laugh. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, evidently sober and awfully chipper for just past sunrise, and – as he tied an apron around his expansive stomach – he waved to Loki with a bright smile. Volstagg kicked at Hogun who slept slumped over on the floor, before he grabbed a black bin-bag and wandered about in search of rubbish to dispose.  Loki stepped onto the staircase so as to avoid getting in his way, while Fandral hunted for lost items of clothes and cursed his half-nude state. Volstagg asked:

“Isn’t Loki still too young to drink?”

“He’s seventeen,” muttered Fandral. “He might not be able to _buy_ alcohol, but I believe he’s allowed to drink whatever he wants. Plus, there’s something _dreadfully_ depressing at being the only sober person in the room, so we’re really doing him a favour! Say, where has Sif gone? I thought she was my ride home for the night.”

“Sif left,” murmured Hogun. “She took the car.”

“You were too drunk to drive anyway,” chirped Volstagg. “I’ll drive you back once we’ve cleared this place up a bit. I believe Jane is due back tonight, so the very last thing that poor girl needs is a mess of this size to clean up. It’s very taxing in her condition.”

“Oh, please! I’m sure she can excuse a one-off party.”

“Not one that lasted all weekend!”

Loki let out a hiss of breath. He quirked an eyebrow and shook his head, while he bit the inside of his lip to refrain from chastising the men over how they spent their summer break, and – with university only a few days away – he doubted Thor would find time to unpack. It was a shame that Grandfather was not around to chastise him, as a few sharp words would always prompt him to tidy his room as children, but now he was content to wallow like an animal in filth. Loki could only hope Jane would not permit such atrocities. Loki observed:

“I bet Sif is glad to have Thor out of her flat.”

“Sif was certainly glad to be rid of all his things,” admitted Fandral. “He really was a bit of a spoiled prince, wasn’t he? I’ve never known a man to own so many things! We were relieved when he and Jane were able to rent this place, because there’s far more room for him to spread out. Who has an entire box just for capes and formalwear?”

“Grandfather has an entire drawer just for eye-patches,” admitted Loki. “I believe he started to treasure even the smallest possessions after losing all he owned in the fire, as the knowledge of how material objects are so temporary and transient lingers in his mind.”

“Well, let’s just hope Thor doesn’t keep his hoarding tendencies.”

“Let’s just hope Thor manages to keep his liver.”

Loki clenched his jaw and fists. He caught Hogun looking with blurred eyes, while Fandral furrowed his brow and placed hands on his hips, and – clearly – neither appreciated being criticised over their drinking habits. Loki glanced up the stairwell. British houses tended to be cramped at the best of times, but he did not expect for converted student accommodation to be so claustrophobic, even for a turn-of-the-century terraced house. He curled his lip and resisted the need to balance himself with the banister, and instead called out:

“I’m going upstairs to see my uncle.”

It was easy to find Thor’s bedroom. There was a lock on Jane’s door, while the bathroom was located downstairs off the kitchen, and that left only one other door, which was plastered with a collage of photographs all tacked on with tape. The ones of Loki were most prominent, but many of Sif and Fandral also lay dominant. There were none of Odin. Loki pulled on his leather gloves, as he took the doorknob in hand and opened the bedroom door.

The bedroom was filled to the brim with boxes, all unopened and taking up vast space along a far wall, and only the bed and desk provided an ounce of space. Thor stood by the large windows, which overlooked the houses on the street behind, and – as he stood, clad only in low-hanging boxers – Loki licked at his lips and closed the door behind him. It was difficult not to admire that body. The past few months had only added to the muscle and physique, providing a great deal of definition and making Thor look almost like a god.

Thor jumped as the door clicked.

He spun around, but stumbled over his feet. It took him a moment to right himself, while a few bottles rolled out from the force of his toes against glass, and – as he laughed like a drunken fool – he found strength to run over to Loki. Two bulging arms wrapped around him, swinging him around as if he weighed nothing and wasn’t almost Thor’s exact height, and soon he was thrown onto the bed where Thor jumped after him. Loki smiled as Thor crawled over him, with long blond hair falling down to shadow his face. Thor chirped:

“Loki, you managed to sneak out!”

Loki caught the stench of beer on his breath. He saw how those blue eyes dilated, as crinkles appeared in the corners with the force of his smile, and he saw how sincere Thor seemed to see him, even as his cheeks flushed red and he struggled to balance over Loki. The bed was lumpy and hard beneath him, but the blankets soft and expensive as they lay stolen from Odin’s house before Thor left, and Loki – with a soft touch – reached up to stroke the rough hair of Thor’s beard and rub his thumb over those chapped lips.

“I told them I was going to the public library.”

“He believed that?” Thor asked.

“Our home library is extensive,” admitted Loki. “I purposely chose psychology as one of my three subjects, however, and Grandfather never held much stock by that area of science. It’s given me quite the excuse to always need various book stores and libraries, although he has _begged_ for me to continue into law as he has done. I have around four hours, anyway.”

“He doesn’t want you home for your birthday?”

“No, but I do need to be back four hours from now.” Loki winced and bit into his lip. “He says that a boy only turns seventeen once. We’re spending a week in New York, a week in Toronto, and then transferring in Paris to spend several days there. I’ve been hired a private tutor, so I won’t miss work from my first few weeks of term. It’s all covered.”

“You sound disappointed by that,” teased Thor. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Loki. The minute we come out with our relationship, he’ll likely cut all funding to you . . . it’s been tough living alone; Sif was great to store my stuff for a while, but there was a mad rush to find a place to live before they kicked us out of the dorms. The minute student funding runs out once Jane and I graduate, there’ll be another mad rush to find work to make rent, too.”

Thor collapsed beside Loki. He stared up at the ceiling, while Loki shirked his coat and tossed it onto the desk, and soon Loki was pulled down onto the bed, where he was rolled onto his back and a rough hand tapped firmly at his shoulder. Loki chuckled and awkwardly removed his jumper, throwing it alongside his coat. The air was cold. It brought goosebumps to his skin. Thor hummed in contentment, while he reached underneath the pillow and pulled out a plastic bottle of massage oil. It was uncapped with a loud click, as Loki asked:

“How did you even get Jane to agree to live with you?”

Thor poured the oil over the small of Loki’s back. It brought a yelp from Loki’s lips, as he recoiled at the cold sensation, but – with a light chuckle – Thor ran his hands through the oil and soon warmed it against his skin. Loki murmured as thick and callused fingers pressed into his knots and worked at his muscles, while he pulled the pillow beneath his head and rested quite comfortably even on the uncomfortable mattress. Thor muttered:

“We make good friends.”

“You _cheated_ on her with _me_ ,” said Loki.

“Yes, but she’s with Donald again now.” Thor shrugged. “There’s also the fact that she’s a transfer student, while Darcy and Eric are surprisingly awful roommates, and it was easiest for us to live together and share on rent. Jane graduates at the end of this year, so I’m also the only person she knows who would still need a place nearby as a student, and . . .”

“The cancer,” muttered Loki. “She can’t move far because of the cancer.”

“Yeah, treatment is a bitch and this hospital is pretty great. Donald is able to drive her to all her appointments, while I’m able to cook her all the meals she needs to get all the nutrients and calories without upsetting her stomach . . . benefits of doing a Health and Fitness degree.”

“Thor, how long has it been since you left? Eight months? Nine? Ten? You suffered being disowned by Grandfather, cast out with nothing but the items in your bedroom, and have since endured this open secret with your friends and now Jane with breast cancer -?” Loki winced. “I worry, Thor. How are you coping? I see bottles strewn about your rooms.”

The rough hands paused on his shoulders. Thor let out a loud exhale of breath, before he resumed his massage of Loki, but – this time – there was enough pressure to become uncomfortable and Loki let out a hiss of discomfort. He pushed himself upward and rolled onto his back, while he braced himself on his elbows with a dark glare. Thor glared back. The massage continued, as Thor worked on Loki’s stomach, and Loki moaned despite himself, as he arched his back and spread his legs to allow Thor better access. Thor asked:

“You think I’m a drunk?”

Loki snatched at Thor’s wrists. There were times when massages existed for massages sake, when the intimacy between them was simply about bonding and physical contact, but at other times Thor would work Loki’s stomach . . . _hardening length, broken sweat, choked cries . . ._ he was trying to distract Loki with arousal, leading him into sexual acts. It brought a hiss of breath from Loki, who jerked his head to the bed beside him. Thor sighed and dropped down, pulling Loki flush against a chiselled chest for a warm embrace. Loki said: 

“I think you’ve woken up drunk many mornings.”

“I’m not an alcoholic, Loki.”

“I never said you were,” spat Loki. “I merely observed that you seem to rely on alcohol to get you through the day! I’ve seen the posts online with you having drinking contests with Eric or Steve, always knocking Eric out with how much he’s drunk, and it _never_ seems to leave a dent in you, does it? I’ve seen how you have a beer with every meal. I’ve seen you smash glasses in bars while screaming ‘another’. I – I _can’t_ watch you waste away like her.”

“Loki, I’m just being social. If I wanted to stop, I could stop!” Thor smiled and shrugged. “I just don’t want to stop, that’s all, but that doesn’t mean I’m a drunk . . . my grades are still high, my friends still adore me, I’m still helping Jane where I can . . . I’m also learning about the meaning of ‘worth’ and starting to better myself. I’m improving, Loki.”

“I know, Thor, but it’s just –”

“I’ve learnt that worth doesn’t come from strength alone. I shouldn’t antagonise. I shouldn’t fight first and ask questions later, just as I shouldn’t retaliate to blatant baiting, and sometimes you have to talk to people on their level . . . like how you and Father always avoid open communication, instead relying on manipulation and hidden meanings.

“My worth comes from sacrifice. It comes from putting others first, while thinking less of myself, and it’s my duty to be strong both for myself and others. If I put myself in danger, I’m taking a risk that means I’m unable to later help others . . . I can’t help you if I’m dead, I can’t help Jane if I’m in prison . . . I need to be strong. I need to be mature. It’s just – It’s just a heavy weight, especially knowing what I risk if I fail. I already lost our family.”

Loki stroked at Thor’s forearm. They were wrapped around his abdomen, while a bearded mouth pressed itself to the crook of his neck, and every breath reverberated against him, providing a small comfort as it reminded him of Thor’s presence. Thor was warm against him, while the light from outside streamed through the window and fell on their bare bodies, and Loki wished that they were completely nude. He wanted that intimacy. He wanted no barrier between them. Loki traced strange patterns with his fingertips on soft skin.

“I almost admire you,” whispered Loki.

“Almost? Not completely?”

“No one else in our family feels that level of duty.”

Thor laughed and pressed a kiss to his neck, followed by another and another, until he reached Loki’s shoulder and rolled him over, and stroked at Loki’s cheek with the back of his fingers. It was a gentle and relaxing touch, while Loki reached out to stroke at his cheeks in turn with a faint smile. Thor murmured in contentment. He let his hands slide lower to grasp around his neck and run his thumb along a pronounced jaw, as he teased:

“I must get it from Mother.”

Loki laughed in turn. He pushed Thor onto his back and sat astride him, while he reached for the massage oil and sought to return the favour, and – catching the cherry scent – he realised that there were other usages for the oil should the morning progress. Loki enjoyed how firm and solid the muscles felt beneath his hands. He purposely caught Thor’s nipples on every upward stroke, while he traced his fingertips over every ridge and crease, and he knew he could worship Thor’s body for hours on end if time allowed. Thor smiled.

Loki frowned, as he listened to a clock tick on the wall. The phone in his coat pocket buzzed, where Odin likely phoned to verify his whereabouts, and the sun rose ever higher in the sky as time drifted by them. Loki kept massaging the chest he so adored, but he allowed his eyebrows to knit together and his lips to purse into a thin line. Thor let out a long sigh. He reached upward to cup Loki’s neck and asked in a low whisper:

“Is everything okay with you, Loki?”

“No,” admitted Loki. “Laufey wants a relationship.”

“Your biological father?”

“Hmm.” Loki pressed harder. “I get on well with Helblindi, while Býleistr has always been good to me, but I have never felt a real urge to communicate with Laufey. I hid from him. I hid from Fárbauti. He has been insistent ever since you accidentally tagged me on that public post, but if I start any form of relationship with him . . . would Odin disown me?”

“Why would he disown you for that?”

“He divorced Fárbauti who then married his rival. He never forgave Hela for sleeping with him in a petty act of revenge, but yet he would be accepting of me seeking to form a tentative relationship with him and remaining in contact with him? I don’t think so. In any case, the only reason I would have to play nice with Laufey would be to use him.”

“To gain Father’s trust further? You’re already his favourite. If you seek to sabotage Laufey, you could end up losing Father’s trust entirely. He left that old life behind for a reason. If he thinks you’ve become like him . . . like Hela . . . he might resent that, Loki.”

“He’ll disown me when I turn eighteen, anyway.”

Thor froze beneath Loki, as his muscles tensed and jaw clenched. They locked eyes as the uneasy truth lay unspoken between them, neither willing to discuss too far ahead when so much lay at risk in the present, but they both knew what sacrifices would come from being together. Thor relaxed his muscles, as Loki smoothly worked at his abdomen with the swift and expert movements that even a masseuse would envy, and Loki smiled absently as a familiar hardness grew just beneath his buttocks. Thor murmured absently:

“I was thinking of investing in bunk beds.”

“What?” Loki asked. “Why?”

“Our friends will keep our secret,” said Thor. “I just worry if anyone else finds out; if we have our own beds, we can add to our defence this is just platonic, and then we can move abroad once you graduate. Do you still want to study International Law?”

“Yes, but right now I have _better_ things I wish to study.”

Loki smirked as he slid his hands lower. They both knew that Loki would not graduate for another four years, while Thor was still two years off, and there was something almost tragic at picturing a life far from all they knew . . . running abroad just to be together. Loki ran his hand over the bulge in Thor’s boxers, where he squeezed at the growing length. It was all too familiar against his palm. He smirked to feel the pre-come stain the thick material.

“I’ll be gone for nearly three weeks, Thor.”

Thor moaned and thrust upwards. Loki laughed and pulled down his boxers until an impressive erection flipped outward, and yet – as Loki knew – Thor was always so self-conscious . . . _‘it’s so much smaller than yours’, ‘the guys in the locker room must be twice my size’, ‘you have too long fingers and it just makes it look smaller’_. . . it was true it lacked in length, but the girth was enough to stretch Loki to breaking point. Loki milked it up and down with slow movements of his fingers, as if playing scales. He whispered:

“You want to make it count?”

Loki slid down the bed, where he poured oil over his fingers. A slap to Thor’s thighs brought those legs up high, as Thor grasped his ankles and spread them as wide as they could move, and – pulling down a pillow to place underneath those buttocks – Loki licked his lips and pressed a finger to that waiting hole. Thor always struggled as the receptive partner, but he prayed today he would finally fit Loki inside to the hilt. Thor gasped out with a smirk:

“Let’s make it count.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m coming,” called Loki.

The doorbell continued to ring. It sounded out long and hard throughout the house, as if the unwanted guest leaned hard on the buzzer and refused to release any pressure, until the incessant ringing stung Loki’s ears and brought a curse to his lips. He wrapped his gown around his still wet form, while throwing back wet hair over the silk fabric. A burst of steam escaped the bathroom as he opened the door. Loki wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He padded down the long hallway of the second-floor, as bare feet left wet footprints on the thick carpet as he walked along with a towel in hands. The doorbell continues to ring. A spark of panic coursed through him . . . _a racing heart, a lump in his throat, a cold chill over his skin_. . . it was too easy to envision the police at the front doors, as he attempted to dry his hair and picked up speed. He wondered if someone finally found out their secret, or if some accident had befallen Odin or Frigga on their business trip, and terror coursed through him.

Loki cursed and tossed the towel to the floor. He half-ran down the stairs, as he called out once more through the hall for the person to remain patient, and – with hand slipping on the banister – he stumbled and was forced to run the last few steps. A shot of adrenaline soared through him, as the loss of balance sent a wave of terror through his veins, but he managed to catch himself at the very bottom with a loud gasp of breath. The doorbell rang on.

“I said I’m coming!” Loki cried. “Will you wait?”

He ran over to the door. The blinds covered the windows on either side and above, while the letterbox soon started to rattle as someone decided to increase the noise, and – as Loki ran a hand over his face – he looked through the peephole. Blackness. It appeared at is someone rested their forehead against it, which only increased the beating of his heart and the cold sweat that broke over his skin. He let out a shuddered breath and gnawed at his lip.

Loki reached out for the table beside the main door. The drawer slid out with relative ease, as he popped the false bottom and pulled out a familiar dagger ‘just in case of emergency’, and – with a kick at the floor – he placed it behind his back tucked in the sash of his gown. He drew in a deep breath, even as his mind grew light-headed and his muscles grew weak, before he reached out with a trembling hand to the lock. The ringing of the bell and smashing of the letterbox continued, as he carefully clicked the door unlocked. A voice rang out:

“Loki? Loki! It’s me, Thor. Let me in. Come on!”

“Thor? What are you _thinking_? It’s –”

“Father’s away on a meeting, right?” Thor started to rap at the letterbox in an odd tune. “Come on, man, it’s freezing out here. We’ve got until Wednesday, so let’s make the most of that time! I missed you this past week . . . you left me all alone, Loki. I miss you!”

Loki rolled his eyes. The words were not slurred, which was something, but they were mumbled and the tone shifted on every other word, and considering the time – close to eleven at night when most prepared to sleep – it was obvious he was drunk. Loki clenched his hands into tight fists, as he let out a long hiss of breath. A part of him wanted to walk away. The last time he left Thor on the doorstep there was a lot of noise, followed by a drunken serenade at his window, and the neighbours threatened to call the police until he let Thor inside.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” said Loki. “I’m letting you inside.”

The door barely opened a crack. Thor threw it fully open, before he grabbed Loki by his upper arms and rammed him hard against the wall. The hilt of the dagger dug painfully until Loki’s lower back, bringing forth a hiss of breath and tears to his eyes, before Thor pressed his body flush against Loki and sandwiched him between wall and body. A cold breeze blew from the front door. Loki shivered from the cold, as it caught against water and sweat.

Thor pressed a bearded mouth to the column of Loki’s neck. The scratching of his rough beard was painful, apparently days since he lasted softened the hair, and it left burns on pale flesh, as Loki struggled to raise his hands between them. He pressed hard against Thor’s chest. Thor refused to budge. A tongue licked at his neck, before teeth came down to leave bite after bite until – at one point – Loki cried out as blood was drawn. It trickled down his neck, as he raised one leg high and let tears fall. Fear washed over him, as he ordered:

“Thor, this stops now!”

Loki parted his legs to become comfortable. Thor strove to get closer and closer, as hands grasped at Loki’s buttocks, kneading them with clumsy expertise that may have aroused him at any other time. He was cornered. Ambushed. Loki struggled to breathe, as his breaths came fast and shallow. He struck hard at solid muscles, while he writhed and struggled against Thor’s wandering hands, but every movement appeared to be taken as ‘reciprocation’.

“Thor, I am telling you to stop! I don’t want this.”

“So beautiful,” murmured Thor. “Love you.”

Thor pulled apart the gown at Loki’s chest; mouth moved for soft nipple, coaxing it erect until a horrific shiver of pleasure merged with the pain and fear, and soon tears ran down Loki’s cheeks as he dug nails into Thor’s scalp. Thor continued to suckle and bite. Loki pulled at blond locks of hair, but Thor simply groaned and moved his hands to Loki’s sash and ripped apart the sash. The gown fell wide open, exposing every inch of flesh including his recently shaved groin. A callused hand pawed at his long length.

“Stop, Thor,” cried Loki. “I said _stop_!”

A loud slap rang out.

Thor let go at once. He stumbled back with reddened cheek. Those blue eyes stared in wide horror at Loki, who – with desperate speed – sought to cover his body once again, while a terrible silence passed between them. The only sounds were Loki’s choked sobs, while the wind rustled the leaves without and heavy traffic sounded various horns with screeching tires, and the world around them carried on without any concern for the fear between them.

Loki reached with a trembling hand to the door. He pushed it gently, until it clicked shut, and – bringing back his hand – double-checked to make sure he was fully dressed, while he ran his hands over his face and wiped away tears. Thor shook his head. He shook it over and over and over, as he stumbled back and grasped at the wall for support, only to slide down onto the tiled floor with mouth parted wide and inhuman cries escaping from his lips. Thor looked broken. Thor looked desperate. Loki moved to step closer to him, but Thor threw up a hand.

It shook with a terrific violence. The fingers closed as if of their own accord, as Thor started to hyperventilate and his chest shook with heaved wracks, and – as Loki slowly continued to move closer – he recognised the signs of a panic attack. Thor strove to keep him at bay, so Loki raised his hands in mock surrender only a foot away from him. He slowly knelt down just opposite Thor. Thor locked eyes with him . . . dilated, wide, _frightened_. . .

“I – I could have raped you,” whispered Thor.

The tears finally came. Thor wept and screamed, as he buried his hands into his hair and bent forward with legs pulled high, and – as Loki slid beside him, bracing himself against the wall – he struggled with the conflicting urges to hurt Thor and to comfort Thor. He doubted that Thor would have gone so far as to rape him, especially when it only took a slap to snap him to his senses, but lines were crossed and the alcohol . . . _so heavy on his breath, soaked into his clothes_. . . clouded his senses and his judgement. Loki tasted tears on his lips, as he said:

“I have a dagger tucked into the back of my gown.”

“You would have stabbed me _again_?”

“We were children last time,” said Loki. “You will not hold that against me forever, will you? In any case, I believe you started it. You would carry around those heavy weights of yours and then put them on top of my books or bed or toilet, always knowing they were too heavy for me to lift and move. I simply retaliated the only way I knew how."

Thor laughed at their brotherly bickering, until the realisation dawned. He returned to a blubbering mess, as he crossed his legs and cried out a primal scream into his hands, and – finally – threw back his head hard onto the wall behind him. He threw it back again. Again. It grew to the point a red smear appeared and Loki cursed . . . afraid . . . he shot out a hand to cushion the following two blows, stopping Thor from making the cut even worse. Blond hair matted with blood, while Thor swayed and sobbed and finally spat out:

“I – I have a problem, Loki.”

Loki swallowed back bile and saliva. He glanced across the hall to the landline, half-tempted to call for Sif or maybe an ambulance, but he knew that would only be a short-term solution to a long-term problem. A shaky smile crossed his lips, as he half-stood and offered a hand to Thor to help him stand. Thor lazily slapped his hand away. Loki attempted to take him by his shoulder, but a shove knocked him back a step. Thor wanted to stay on the floor.

It was difficult to watch the humiliation. Thor was a proud man with an eye for fashion, always keenly aware about appearances and striving to be the golden child, and the very nature of his degree led to him taking great care of his body and fitness, but here he was . . . soaked in sweat and beer and sick, while he wept like a baby and rejected the very person he desperately wanted by his side. He looked weak. Pitiable. Loki walked to the lounge and took Frigga’s blanket and cushion, before he returned back to the hall with a few sobs.

He knew he shouldn’t be the one to parent his uncle, two years his senior and not long twenty in age, and yet here he was . . . guiding Thor to lie down . . . draping a blanket over him, as he slid a cushion underneath his head. Thor would spend the night on the floor. Loki sniffed and wiped away tears, as he sat with legs folded beside Thor. He stroked at the matted blond hair and tried to untangle locks matted with blood. Loki asked:

“You said you have a problem?”

“Drink,” muttered Thor.

“I know,” whispered Loki. “It’s the one thing I hate about you. Do you know how much worse it’s gotten in these past two years? I’m _terrified_ of my eighteenth birthday, because I know how people will expect me to drink, and already I have Sigyn teasing me how I’ll finally be legal to buy her a round. Every time I see someone take a bottle or a glass –”

“You fear that they’ll end up just like me.”

“To be honest, yeah,” admitted Loki. “I shouldn’t have to be _scared_ of alcohol! I just know that it’s thanks to the booze that I’m physically scarred for life, while my mother’s ashes gather dust in a locked box in the attic, and now . . . now I’m looking at you wasting away! I know you had a lot to cope with . . . being disowned, your last year of university coming up, Jane suffering with her cancer, but to cope like this . . . to lose yourself . . .

“Do you remember when I made a mistake making some coffee? You sneered. You accused me of doing it on purpose to upset Jane. You seemed to think it funny, or you at least didn’t even remember having said it, and it hurt me to my core . . . it was like you thought I’d _really_ be that spiteful and petty, but that wasn’t you! It’s never you, at least the real you.

“You said I looked like a ‘cow’ when I bought a new hat. You called my sparring with Fandral just ‘tricks’. You started a fight with Býleistr when he called you ‘princess’, and – honestly – the only reason you escaped charges of grievous bodily harm is because I _begged_ Mother to pay him off and used all my charm as his nephew. Every time you sleep, I have to check you’re still breathing . . . I’m scared each night may be your last. I’m scared.”

Loki buried his face into his hands. The tears were hot and fast, as they blurred his vision and stung his eyes, and yet somehow Thor remained oblivious to them, even when – in his sober moments – every one would be kissed away with utmost care. There was movement outside the front door, where a neighbour called out to ask if he were okay, and Thor laughed a broken sound as the neighbour mentioned hearing a scream. Loki shouted back that it was merely a drunken friend. They left promising to call Odin. Thor muttered out:

“Are you ashamed of me, Loki?”

Loki said nothing. Odin would likely take the first plane out come morning, by which point he would need to whisk Thor out of the door and cease all contact until some stolen moment, but – until then – he owed it to Thor to console him. Loki reached down to place a kiss to a clammy forehead. Thor murmured in contentment, while drool collected in the corner of his mouth, and Loki bit hard into his lip until he tasted iron, as he admitted:

“I’m afraid of you.”

The confession drew Thor’s full attention. Those blue eyes shot wide open, ever bloodshot and dilated, as he stared in horror toward Loki and choked back empty laughter, which sounded as cold as it was humourless. Thor rolled onto his back; a callused hand ran over his face, while he pulled the blanket up to this chin with a childlike grip. Loki drew in a sharp breath. He feared the blood from the head wound would stain the cushion, but to say that aloud would only risk indignation or tears in his current state. Loki remained silent.

“I want to get help,” said Thor.

“Do you really mean that? Will you get help?”

“Yeah.” Thor nodded. “I can’t lose you, Loki. I sacrificed _everything_ just to be with you, so if I lost you now . . . it’d make everything pointless. It’d be like I ruined our lives over nothing. I can’t do that you. I _won’t_ do that to you. I just hate admitting it, because I’m the one who’s meant to be strong and protect you and help you, but instead -? I’m sorry, Loki.”

“You don’t need to apologise about showing weakness, Thor. If this relationship is to work long-term, we need to work together as equals, which means sharing all obstacles and bearing all burdens together. I will support you through this. You’re not alone.”

“I _feel_ alone, Loki. I think it’s why I drink . . . I can drink as part of a group; I can laugh and joke with Fandral, or compete and bicker with Steve, and even when I’m alone it numbs the pain and provides a distraction. I know that getting help needs to be not just about you, but about me . . . about me actually _wanting_ help . . . I wouldn’t have the constant hangovers, or worry about failing a breath-test, or – or – or hurting you, but then saying it aloud . . .”

“You have nothing to be ashamed about. It’s okay to say it.”

Thor stilled. He stared up at the ceiling with unblinking eyes, as his lips pursed into a thin line, and – with a shaking hand – Loki pulled back and cast a half-narrowed gaze to the floor, where he counted the tiles and strove not to let the sinking disappointment bring further acid to the back of his mouth. Loki cursed as his stomach churned. He expected nothing more from Thor, but then there followed a long sigh and he saw a tear run down the corner of Thor’s eye into his hairline. Thor quirked a shaky smile through trembling lips, and said:

“Loki, I think I’m an alcoholic.”

Loki reached out to stroke at Thor’s cheek. He wiped away the tear with a smile in turn, as he leaned down place a chaste kiss to his forehead, and – with a staggered sigh – carefully stood and walked to the table in the hall. He pulled open the drawer and took out a pamphlet, along with a small card, and walked over to Thor and sat beside him once again. Thor took them without being prompted, although his eyes struggled to focus and it took several minutes before he could finally read the fonts. Thor furrowed his brow and asked:

“How long have you had this?”

“Around six months,” admitted Loki. “The card is to an alcoholic recovery group. It provides you support from people who understand what you’re going through, but they also give you a ‘sponsor’ to coach you through any moments of temptation, and they seem to give out coins as a visual reminder of your sobriety. You like socialising, while you also like to be strong for others, so I thought a group-environment might motivate you more.

“The pamphlet I got from my therapist. They said you can self-refer to their counselling service, which is free on the National Health Service, and they’ll provide you with a one-on-one counsellor once a week to help you through your issues. I think it’s about taking this one day at a time and accepting slip-ups happen; it’s an ongoing process, not an overnight fix.”

“I’ll call them both in the morning.” Thor sniffed and teased with a smile: “You know, when I’m sober and all that. Loki, I – I’m sorry that it’s got this far . . . I know what I have done to wrong you, and I know what has led me to this, and I am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Thor. Get better. Make it right.”

Thor closed his eyes and another tear fell. Loki stroked through his hair, where he sat and watched as he slowly entered a peaceful sleep, and Loki hummed to him an old song that Frigga once sang to them as children. The tiled floor would lead to a chronic ache come morning, but Loki smiled to see the pain and fear leave that once wrinkled brow. Loki allowed a tear to fall, as he sniffed once more with a trembling lip. It was cold in the hall, enough that Loki feared the cold would penetrate the blankets, and yet he continued to smile.

“Make it right,” whispered Loki.


	9. Chapter 9

Odin knocked at the door.

Silence followed. He drew in a deep breath and waited, until a murmured curse echoed from inside the bedroom, and – with a few bangs and a rustle of fabric – someone finally stumbled over to the door and rattled at the doorknob. The hallway was warm and clean, enough that Odin let his eye wander over the walls that marked dozens of framed photographs, and there he saw familiar figures . . . Jane, Loki, Sif, Darcy, Fandral . . . no pictures of himself.

The door opened wide to reveal Thor.

The past three years had aged him considerably, while his muscle mass now seemed extreme, and – as he stood in an old pair of sweatpants and nothing else – Odin smiled to remember the days when he too bore such strength and size. Thor had grown his hair, so that it now hung low beneath his collarbones. Odin noticed the ‘lovelock’. It was a long plait of hair over his left shoulder, but one interwoven with what looked to be black strands.

Thor said nothing. He looked Odin over with narrowed blue eyes, while his thick lips pursed into a thin line, and Odin – with a hiss of breath – noticed the many love-bites that trailed over the column of his neck and around his hips. Odin chanced a glance over Thor’s shoulder, as his heart raced and hands clenched. There was no one else. The top bunk of the bunk-beds looked perfectly made, while the small room left no room for anyone to possibly hide, and yet a part of him was ever tempted to ring Loki’s phone, just to be sure. Thor muttered:

“How’d you get in here?”

Odin lowered his gaze. A sharp ache overcame his joints, while the warmth of the hallway only added to the uncomfortable sweat on his skin, and – as heavy layers clung to his body – he felt the exhaustion of old age creeping over him. The wrinkles on his hands and loose skin marked a disparity in age between himself and Thor, while he knew any thrown punches now would result in more damage to Odin’s part, especially now that Thor had no reason to simply take whatever was thrown at him. Odin said with a heavy sigh:

“Jane allowed me entry upstairs.”

“Huh,” said Thor. “I guess you better come in, then.”

The door was held open for Odin. He walked inside the immaculately kept room, where the only thing out-of-place was a pile of freshly dried clothes on the desk beneath the window, and Odin noted well the sheer amount of trophies and certificates. Odin smiled to see that Thor appeared to excel in rugby and wrestling, while a gown hung on the back of his door ready for his graduation ceremony. It was easy to forget he graduated in a few weeks.

There were dozens of cards scattered over various bookcases, all numbered with ‘twenty-one’ and varying in size and expense, and a small pile of presents lay stacked on the top of a cheap wardrobe made from pine. They were still wrapped and perfectly piled. Odin walked about the room, while Thor took position against his desk and scratched at his head with an exhausted yawn, and Odin’s chest contracted in pain as he saw three years worth of memories and experiences and accomplishments, all visual reminders of his absence in Thor’s life.

“Jane appears to be recovering well,” said Odin.

“Is that why you came here?” Thor scoffed with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, she’s doing pretty great. I’m lucky to have her as a friend, even if I’d rather Donald hadn’t moved in, but splitting the rent three ways helps a _lot_ more, so I can’t complain. Jane’s finally been well enough to start her masters’ degree. Donald’s working to be a doctor.”

“I imagine a sick fiancé would inspire many a man to what he could to prevent such a relapse from ever occurring again,” observed Odin. “If I lost your mother, or even feared her loss, I believe I would lose a part of myself and I would never be the same again.”

“Donald bore it pretty well, all things considered.”

“That is good to hear.”

Odin explored the room further. He stopped short of the desk, where – just beside Thor – a small purple coin that appeared to be inscribed with a prayer: _‘God grant me the strength to accept things I cannot change, courage to change things I can, and wisdom to know the difference’_. Odin reached out to take the coin, but Thor quickly caught his gesture with a double-take and a wide-eyed horror. Thor snatched at the coin. He held it so tight in a closed fist that his knuckles turned white, while he pressed his hand to his bare chest. Odin asked:

“You are an alcoholic?”

Thor winced and licked at his lips, while he ran a free hand through blond locks. The sunlight shone out behind him, giving him a soft glow as the sunrise warmed his flesh, and Odin – glancing over his shoulder – tried not to curl his lip at the ‘view’. There was a long thin garden at the back of the house, where barbeque sat in good condition and a trampoline sat a little further along, but it was difficult to envision social times spent with dozens of houses overlooking one’s illusion of privacy. Thor shuffled from foot to foot with hand clenched.

“Nine months sober,” muttered Thor.

“That is good, Thor.”

“No, it could’ve been better.” Thor shrugged. “I only made it a week at first. Steve invited me for a few drinks, but I wasn’t aware Tony was there and I let him goad me into having one more and then one more and another . . . I ended up throwing up in some stranger’s bathroom, ringing a friend to beg for forgiveness while I wept like a fool. I think I told him I’d kill myself if he just asked me, because I wasn’t good enough to live. I barely even remember it.

“I was severely depressed after that. I couldn’t even make it a fucking _week_!” Thor shook his fist up and down as a tear ran down his cheek. “That friend forced me into counselling, to run adjacent to my support groups, and my sponsor talked me off my ledge. I made it to my sixty-day chip and stupidly had a glass of champagne at Jane’s engagement party. It was just one.”

“You have not drunk any alcohol since?”

“No,” admitted Thor. “My friend said one drink wasn’t the end of the world, but I’m going to do this _right_ and there’s no such thing as ‘one drink’ with an addiction. If I start thinking like that, then what’s to stop me from saying ‘one more won’t hurt’? I told my group. They coached me through it, and I started from scratch. Still, I was proud . . . I was proud I _did_ stop at just that one glass. There was a time that would have been impossible.”

Thor opened his hand before him. The coin stood as a visual reminder of his progress, as well as a symbol of all his stood to lose, and – as Odin wondered about this ‘friend’ – he caught how Thor’s watery eyes moved to a photograph of Loki on his desk. Odin bit into his lip and drew in a deep breath, as his chest expanded and head lifted high. A glance about the room revealed a green shirt hanging from a coat-hook on a door, as well as a law book propped underneath the leg of the wardrobe. Odin let out a long exhale and said:

“You made a recovery even without my help.”

Thor laughed and walked over to the lower bunk, where he half-collapsed and sat with parted legs, and – as he clasped his hands between them – he looked down at the carpet with a harsh gaze and curled lip. The coin sat beside him on the mattress. Odin noticed wrinkled sheets and scrunched up duvet, while blankets appeared kicked off onto the floor, and a black pair of briefs lay half-tucked away, which were unlike Thor’s preference for boxers. Thor muttered:

“I couldn’t let Loki grieve another family member.”

“I did all that I could by Hela,” swore Odin. “It is somehow ironic that the child I ignored is the one that succeeded in recovering from their addiction. I know that I did not do right by either of you, Thor, but I am proud of the man you have become. You did well.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you have unconditional support.” Thor smirked and shrugged with a hiss of laughter. “Do you know what they told me when I was given my first chip? They said it wasn’t about my promise to them, but their promise to me to support me no matter what. I nearly cried. They would actually support me even _despite_ my mistakes.”

“I always supported you, Thor. I – ”

“ _You disowned me_!”  

Thor winced and ran his hands over his face. Odin said nothing, but watched as Thor cursed and dropped backward on the bunk, and – as Thor looked ever upward – Odin slid his phone from his pocket and pressed at the buttons with impressive speed. He rang Loki. There was no buzz or ringtone from anywhere in the house, but he noticed that the call went straight to voicemail, while Thor chuckled from the bed. Loki would be back in time for curfew, wherever he hid himself throughout the day. Odin frowned, as Thor muttered:

“You disowned me, Father.”

“I did what I must to protect Loki,” said Odin.

“Yeah, well, I think that’s what tipped me over the edge.” Thor ran a hand over his face. “I was drinking a lot once I turned eighteen, but no more than any other fresher at university or any other student who liked to be social. I had a problem, but I think I could have managed, and then you . . . you _threw me out_. In a day I lost my family. I lost my home.”

“You blame me for your alcoholism? Is that what your group teaches you?”

“No, I’ve only myself to blame for the choices I made. I’ve spent months and months trying to make it up to everyone I’ve wronged, especially Loki, but I know it’ll be years before I finally learn to forgive myself and feel strong enough to be around drink without taking a drink, but you . . . you had me on a cliff-edge and just _pushed_ me. I drank because I had nothing else to lose. I was alone. I wanted to feel less alone. I drank . . .

“I know what happened to Hela was bad, but you created this environment of total fear! You know Loki’s so _terrified_ of being an alcoholic that he can’t even walk into a bar? He won’t take a sip. He gets physically _sick_ around the smell of alcohol. That’s no way to live, because what’s wrong with a drink in moderation? Why deny him a normal part of life?

“I – I think a part of me rebelled, you know? I’ve wanted to have this out with you for so long, but I never worked up the courage and it’s something a long-time said. I was wrong to try and ‘reclaim’ alcohol and pretend like I had power over it, but you were wrong to try and make it seem like some evil and destructive thing in its own right. Loki might’ve been less uptight, and maybe I’d have not been so dependent, if we’d _just_ been given a healthy context.”

The words rung both hollow and true. Odin winced and glanced to the numerous photographs, where not a single one of Hela existed, and he knew what an environment of parties and debauchery and hedonism led toward . . . it never occurred to him that abstinence and restraint and denial would lead to the same place. Odin reached out to touch the frame of one photograph in particular. Loki. He stood dressed only in a shirt too large for his frame, leaned against a windowsill with a mug in his hand. A candid shot taken in the morning.

Odin furrowed his brow, as he noted a lock of hair cut short. He remembered the day he questioned Loki about the strange cut . . . _‘I got gum caught in my hair, nothing more_ ’ . . . a part of him knew that their days as a family were limited. The secret was now an open secret, with less and less care put into lies and deceit. Thor stood from the bed and marched across the room, where he slammed down the photo-frame and spat out:

“Why are you here, anyway?”

Thor spun around with arms crossed over his chest. Odin raised an eyebrow and reached back out for the photograph, where he stood it back upright and tapped the glass by the cut lock of hair, and – with a jab of his finger – pointed towards the lovelock. He smirked to see the blush on Thor’s cheeks, as well as the tensing of those large muscles, and Thor at once moved about in search of more clothes. Thor snatched at a red dressing gown, as he quickly wrapped it around his body and refused to make eye-contact. Odin asked in a low voice:

“Are you still in contact with Loki?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” Odin scoffed. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

“You never were one for social media,” admitted Thor. “We kept in touch secretly online, but – _I swear_ – we never met in person or exchanged physical correspondence. We’re just good friends, and Loki supports me through all my problems, while I’ve been trying to support him, too, but it’s difficult on both of us. We’re stubborn. We must get it from you.”

“Well, I have reason to believe that Loki is in contact with Laufey and Fárbauti. I am afraid that I am losing Loki to such hideous and immoral people, especially as they were the cause of our family’s downfall. I worry they will play to his issues. You must be aware that he has never felt he quite belonged, while conflicted between believing himself a monster due to his parentage and desperately clinging to Frigga in hopes of bettering himself. This will –”

“He hasn’t said anything,” said Thor.

“Thor, if he has said one word then you must tell me.” Odin let out a long hiss of breath. “Laufey stole forth my wife and bore from her two children, and – when he was bored with that – he seduced my daughter and bore another child with her, abandoning both without a single care as to whether they lived or died. He was not even at her funeral. Loki is in a fragile position and must be protected. If he succumbs to Laufey’s manipulations -?”

“What? He might sleep with Laufey, too?” Thor rolled his eyes. “Look, if you worry about Loki being suckered into the criminal underworld -? Don’t. I love Loki more than I think you realise, but he’s a Machiavellian little shit and _all_ he wants in this world is _your_ approval. I think we both know that he loves me, but he’s afraid you’ll disown him if he says that.”

“He does not love you, Thor. At least, he only loves you as an uncle.”

“Are you so certain? Is that why you’d come to me?”

Thor laughed and moved to the window. He threw it wide open, where the open window from the kitchen below allowed for rich scents to pierce the air, and – with the familiar crackle of frying oil – Odin caught the scent of bacon and pancakes. Odin almost smiled at the scent of an American breakfast, a treat not experienced since their family holiday with Loki some years previous, and yet here . . . in the house of a makeshift family from all nations . . . it seemed they all came together to share in communal meals.

“If Loki just sees me as an uncle, you would have gone to Sigyn,” said Thor in a cold voice. “You would have gone to Helblindi. You would have even have gone to Mother! You are here because you _know_ he feels deeper for me and he’d have confided in me. Well, I’m telling you now that he’s told me nothing, but that you underestimate his motivations.”

“What do I underestimate, Thor?”

“He’s scared you’ll disown him, like I say, but you’ve spent his _whole_ life telling him that Laufey and Fárbauti are just cruel and evil crime-lords who have no place in his life. You never let us go back to Iceland. You hid Hela’s ashes in the attic! Loki feels this whole other side of himself is something shameful and abhorrent, to be locked away and feared, while you’re like this – this – this _god_ that saved him and adores him. How do you think he’ll act?”

Odin listened as Jane called up that breakfast was ready. Another person knocked on the door, before footsteps ran down the stairs, and – from someplace else – he was sure he heard familiar laughter. Thor’s question lingered between them. Loki was always good at hiding, sometimes even hiding secrets in plain sight, and even when knowing his sins . . . often evidence was impossible to find. Thor was right that Loki would seek to prove himself, which would mean destroying any perceived enemies of Odin and ties to his own past.

“He will seek to sabotage Laufey,” whispered Odin.

“I’ll be surprised if Laufey isn’t in hiding or in jail, by the time I graduate,” admitted Thor. “I love Loki, but I also _know_ Loki better than anyone else. I’ll have words with him, Father, but the damage is likely already done and he will expect you to be proud of him.”

“Proud of underhanded means and unethical practises?”

“Why not? It’s what you taught him.”

Odin winced. He drew in a deep breath and walked toward the door. The cheap plastic handle stuck to his palm with his sweat, while he could not quite find the courage to open the door, and behind him Thor stood with hands pressed against his desk, while he breathed long and deep from the fresh air through the open window. Odin let his eyes linger. It could be years before they would meet again, which only made the click of the handle ever louder and ever more painful to his ears, and – as he pulled open the door – Thor called out:

“Were you ever sorry?”

The breeze picked up strength. Thor kept his back to Odin, even as Odin pulled the door open wide and looked into the room opposite, where – in a rush to get food – the door was left open allowing for a gaze into another’s life. He saw a room that may have come straight from the pages of a catalogue in style, but in such disarray that the wardrobe appeared to merely be a suggestion for storage and the wastepaper basket a simple idea for storing waste. He asked:

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for disowning me,” asked Thor.

“I love you dearly, my son,” said Odin. “In another life, I may even have considered you my favourite child. I simply cannot lose another child and Loki is my only connection to Hela, and to have you in Loki’s life is to risk his corruption and incarceration. He is not in love with you as you are with him. You cannot ruin his life with an incestuous union.”

“So that’s it? You don’t regret disowning me? I’m your flesh and blood! I was the one who ran to you when I scraped my knee. I was the one who stayed up at night desperate for bedtime stories of frost giants and old wars. I was the one who _worshipped_ you and –”

“Thor, you will always be my son, but Loki is also my grandson.”

“And Hela’s blood trumps my existence, is that it?”

The house fell silent around them. It was clear Thor’s voice boomed out, so that even the frying from the kitchen ceased and the laughter stopped, and Odin – as he stepped out into the hallway – turned around to see Thor finally looking back at him. The blue eyes were difficult to look upon, as they were already half-filled with unshed tears and bore dark bags from an evidently sleepless night, and yet Odin knew that he could say nothing that would provide a comfort to his only son. Odin swallowed hard, as his heart raced.

“I am sorry, Thor. Truly, I am sorry.”

Odin finally closed the door.


	10. Chapter 10

“I don’t have time, Grandfather.”

Loki stood with arms wide. The sun shone strong through the greenhouse, magnified by the recently cleaned glass, and it caught on various pots and ceramics, occasionally leaving painful afterimages etched on his retinas. Frigga said nothing, as she knelt on a soft pad before a tray of flowers that he struggled to recognise. The light blue dress looked beautiful on her slender frame. He cast occasional glances in her direction.

It was clear she sought to avoid looking in their direction, as if somehow she might make matters worse, and yet her pale skin made it clear that she was emotionally invested in their disagreement, even as long fingers prodded at the soft soil. Odin paced behind the table of orchids, with one hand wrapped around his mouth, as he kept his eye fixated on the stone slabs underfoot. The rich scent of pollen lingered in the air, occasionally drawing sniffs from both Odin and Loki, while the sounds of the world continued on around them.

The birds were loud outside in the garden, while cars could be heard in the streets beyond, and – with a loud beep from the inside security system – Loki noted that someone was driving through the front gates, likely Fandral who was unfortunately an hour too early, and Loki wondered whether he would wait or knock upon the door. Odin ignored the beep. He ignored everything else, as he spun around and faced Loki directly with a scowl.

“Fandral is here,” observed Loki.

Odin glanced towards the gardens. It was impossible to see the front of the house, but – from where the greenhouse was positioned – there was a clear view of the garages and parking area, and Fandral’s old car could be seen pulling at an obstructive angle. Loki knew why he parked there instead of outside the front door. He would want the best view of the house, along with Loki if possible, and Hogun likely sat in the passenger seat in case of trouble. Odin continued to pace, even as Loki’s heart raced ever faster and faster. Odin spat out:

“Let him wait.”

“I have some of Thor’s things packed up,” lied Loki. “I thought I told you? You asked why I had so many boxes in my room. Thor left some of his possessions in the attic, and he asked me to send them to him through Fandral. It seems a bit rude to make him wait.”

“ _Let him wait_ ,” cried Odin. “This is of more importance!”

“I did nothing wrong, Grandfather.”

Two fists slammed down on the table. The pots rattled and shook, until fell from the edge and crashed onto the tiles below with a loud smash, and – as Frigga jumped with a gasp – Odin pressed his hands flat on the tabletop and glared across to Loki. He narrowed his eyes and flushed a dark shade of red, while he breathed fast and deep breaths. Loki stepped back. He cast another look to Frigga, who stood and rapidly pulled off her gloves.

A few seconds later, Frigga was at his side. Two hands wrapped around his shoulders, as she pulled him close against her, and – catching the scent of her perfume – he was almost comforted by the presence of another. Loki bit into his lip. A nervous sweat overcame him, forcing his leather clothes to cling to him in an awkward manner, while he hunched his shoulders and sought to make himself smaller than he otherwise seemed. Frigga bought into act of vulnerability, cooing and humming at him as if he were a child.

“You are nineteen, Loki,” said Odin

Loki winced. He knew that Thor had plastered photographs of his graduation all over social media, just as he knew that he could be seen in many of them clinging to Thor’s side, and he gnawed at his lip with a roll of his stomach. Bile rose to the back of his throat, as his eyes flickered over to the smart-phone on the tabletop. Odin’s sudden acceptance of modern technology did not bode well. Loki pulled away from Frigga, where he stepped towards the table opposite Odin and placed two shaking hands down on the wood. Loki said:

“I am well aware of my age.”

“I never questioned you when you left this house.” Odin let out a long hiss of breath. “I never questioned when you stayed overnight at Sigyn’s to study, or when you would spend entire afternoons at the library, and I never _once_ insisted on a chaperone when you would stay here alone during my business ventures. I trusted you, Loki. You are my grandson.”

“What is it that you think I’ve _done_?” Loki asked. “I know you’re annoyed that I stayed in touch with Thor, but – it’s as he’s told you – we’ve _never_ met in person. Is it a crime to want to stay in touch with the only uncle I have on my mother’s side?”

“No, that is no crime. Incest, however, _is_ a crime. I saw the lock of black hair woven into Thor’s plait . . . the black briefs in his bed, the marks on his neck, and the photographs of you taken in recent years . . . I assumed this obsession on his part, perhaps that he has even found a body to replace yours, and I can only hope he has not involved you in his delusions. We can get you further therapy, Loki, perhaps move out-of-country for your education, but _this_ . . .”

Odin returned to pacing back and forth. Loki fell faint at the suggestion of emigration. He braced himself on both forearms, as he kept his head low and stared hard at the tabletop, and – as he breathed fast and shallow, eyes unfocussed and pupils unfixed – he struggled to hold back the shakes that wracked his frame. Frigga came beside him, but he jerked away and raised a hand to keep her at bay. The greenhouse began to spin around him, as he raised his fingers to his temple and looked to Odin, and yet Odin could only ask in a quiet voice:

“Why is it that Laufey now rots in prison?”

A vast wave of relief crashed over Loki. The accusations of incest lay half-forgotten, while Loki looked to Odin and saw those wrinkles about his eyes darken and deepen, and yet the flush to those red cheeks remained as thin lips pressed into a white line. Loki stood straight and crossed his arms over his chest, as he raised his chin high and smirked with a twinkle to his eyes that stemmed from a deep sense of pride. Loki shrugged his shoulders and observed:

“I thought you’d be proud.”

“Proud? _Proud_?” Odin laughed. “Tell me, Loki. How did you manage such a task? I am told that the police were alerted as to everything . . . off-shore accounts, shell companies, discrepancies in various forms . . . over a _decade’s_ worth of police investigation that led nowhere, all miraculously solved by an anonymous tipster. Is it not funny how Helblindi and Býleistr are completely untouched by this scandal? I hear they remain rich.”

“They did nothing wrong by me,” muttered Loki. “Helblindi always strove to be like a brother, and you never denied him visitation to me, while Býleistr strove to be like an uncle, always teaching me and guiding me and lecturing me . . . I got my revenge on the one who harmed us, but why should I hurt those innocent to his machinations?”

“‘Us’? No, Loki. Laufey was a bad man and a crime lord, but he never even knew of your existence. Fárbauti knew. Helblindi and Býleistr were told, but until Thor foolishly posted that public photograph of you . . . Laufey was under the impression Hela lost you.”

“He did not abandon me?”

“We could not adopt you officially, Loki. It would have meant alerting Laufey to your existence, risking a long and painful battle for custody, and that was something that we could not endure, while Fárbauti also wished against such an outcome. If this was revenge for your perceived abandonment, I have failed you as I have failed your mother.”

Odin hunched his shoulders. He ran his hands over his face. There was a tremble to his hands, while his eye glistened with an unshed tear, and Frigga – with a shuddered sigh – reached out to Loki with a soft hand. He pushed her hand away. Loki took a step towards Odin, even as Frigga stood behind him with her hands raised high as if half-tempted to reach out to him and half-afraid of potential rejection. A loud beat sounded in Loki’s ears, until he realised it was his heart racing every faster and faster. He swallowed hard, as Odin whispered:

“I should have been honest from the start.”

Loki let out a choked laugh. The sound was bitter and loud, as he bent over and clutched at his stomach, and soon laughter gave way to choked cries and loud retches, as acid burned the back of his throat and he coughed and spluttered for air. Frigga ran to his side, as she patted his back and instructed him to breathe deep. Odin ran in turn. They guided Loki to a chair not far from where Frigga earlier worked, while he wept with wracked breaths.  

Every intake of breath hurt his chest, while his vision blurred from tears. The sweat from his forehead fell into his eyes, stinging them and only adding to the tears that fell, while Frigga splashed water onto his face and Odin clasped the back of his neck. He saw the fear in their expressions. They worried for him. They worried for him even as they kept him away from his biological father, denying him a part of his heritage and a part of his identity, and Loki laughed all over again as he wiped at his mouth and gulped down air. Loki asked:

“He – He _wanted_ me?”

“You were an innocent child,” whispered Odin. “He would have corrupted you. Do you not see what damage he caused your mother . . . your _grandmother_? Laufey destroys all that he touches, nothing more than a monster who thrives from the pain of others, and you are like a son to me . . . my _blood_ , Loki. I wanted only to protect you from the truth.”

“From the truth? I could have been raised with my brothers.” Loki wiped at his tears. “I could have been raised in my homeland. I could have been in a home where it wasn’t _shameful_ to say the name ‘Hela’ and maybe – maybe . . . maybe Thor would have . . .”

“Loki, you must –”

“You always favoured me. Is this why? You were overcompensating . . . afraid I would uncover the truth, afraid I would choose Laufey over you . . . do you know the _guilt_ I felt, always knowing that whatever Thor did would always be second to me? You taught me to hate myself! I was the cause of his pain. I was the one who made him second-best.”

Loki pulled out his phone from his pocket. He clicked through to his gallery, ignoring how they bickered and begged in his peripheral vision, and – as he scrolled through various images – he saw Helblindi and Býleistr, both so much older than him and both never sharing the same screen with Laufey. Thor took up an entire folder to himself, but not one photo in recent years was taken with Odin or by Odin. Two families divided . . . two sets of people to make proud, while Odin and Frigga stayed on the sidelines . . . lying . . . hiding . . .

“Are you proud of me now, Grandfather?”

He stood to his feet and clutched his phone to his chest. Fandral called from the car, but Loki chose ‘decline’ with a swift movement of his thumb, while he waved a trembling hand towards Fandral and stumbled away from his supposed ‘family’. Odin reached out to him, but he slapped his hands away and buried his fingers into his hair. The air was too cold. It chilled him to his bones, while he swayed on his feet and licked awkwardly at his lips.

“I did this for you,” said Loki. “I did it _all_ for you!”

“No, Loki,” whispered Odin. “No.”

The realisation dawned. Odin looked to him with a tear down his cheek, but his eyes were that of a stranger filled with judgement and confusion . . . _pity, disgust, fear_. . . it was the first time he truly saw Loki, but what he saw looking back was Laufey. Loki shook his head over and over, as he half-laughed and half-choked. He stumbled back. The glass walls closed around him. A sensation like insects crawling . . . hot skin, cold skin . . . dizziness . . . Loki struggled to process words, thoughts, emotions . . . there was no escape . . .

Loki ran.

He fled through the garden and through the kitchen door. The house blurred around him, as he made his way straight for his bedroom and text for Fandral to pull up outside, and – as Fandral texted back he would send Hogun inside for the boxes – he snatched an old gym-bag from the back of his closet. Loki grabbed handfuls of socks and underwear from a drawer, shirts and trousers still on their hangers, ramming them into his bag with little care.

Loki failed to hear as Frigga and Odin entered, even as he shoved and punched at his clothes to make room for more, and – with head low and a grunt of acknowledgement – Hogun walked past everyone to pick up one of the heaviest of boxes. Loki sniffed and wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeve, as he waited for Hogun to leave before he grabbed a rucksack from under his bed and sought to fill it further with more clothes. Frigga let out a small cry, as she came towards him and watched him as he frantically packed.

“Loki?” Frigga asked. “Loki, please stop.”

Loki ignored her. He continued to pack until Odin snatched at his hands, gripping his wrists hard enough to leave faint red marks, and – as Loki gulped for breath – he watched as Fandral entered to take another box and realisation dawned on Frigga. He watched as Frigga chased after Fandral, pleading with him to leave Loki’s possessions, before – with a high-pitched mewl of panic – wandered back into the room to stand by his side. Odin stood with a wide and bloodshot eye, as he shook at Loki’s wrists and asked in a quiet voice:

“Where will you go, Loki?”

“I’ve wanted to leave for the past year,” confessed Loki. “Thor told me ‘no’. He said that it would be better for him to hit a year sober first, as well as to graduate so he can provide better, and with only a few months to go -? I was willing to wait. I saved money by staying at home . . . I saved all that you gave me, I worked as an assistant to my professor for extra cash . . . I have just enough for a place on my own, if I choose.”

“Loki, you must stop and think about this,” begged Frigga. “You are stressed. You are _hurt_. Will you still wish to move out once your pain lessens and your mind calms? You have everything you could want here. Let us talk about this and maybe come to a solution, as it will not be easy to live alone while studying full-time and working part-time.”

“I may be a few months early, but I’m sure Thor will take me in.”

“You think Thor will have you?” Odin asked.

Loki wrenched his hands away, before he pointed to the boxes. Fandral and Hogun worked with quick and almost professional speed, with only a few covert glances and lingering seconds by the doorway, but they both knew all there was to know. Law books were stacked in one open box, while another featured various art supplies, and another bore a selection of leather coats and leather trousers. Loki laughed and jabbed a finger in their direction.

“These are _my_ boxes, Grandfather.”

Frigga remained silent. It took her only a few seconds to wander over to the bed, where she dropped down onto it with a slight creak of springs, and – with a sniff – she reached out to a stuffed toy that was given to him in childhood. A smile broke over her lips, bringing crinkles to the corner of her eyes. He watched as she brought it to her face and breathed deep a scent that was a mixture of his childhood and adulthood, while the plush fur remained as the last anchor to treasured memories and the hope he might remain. Frigga whispered:

“You were always going to move out.”

“Yeah,” confessed Loki. “I thought I’d get most of the bulkier items out in advance, maybe sneak out smaller and more personal items bag by bag, and then I’d make it official once Thor got his one-year chip. The bunk beds were for my benefit. I took down my own father for Grandfather, but all he could do was to lie to me and keep me apart from Thor!”

“I never asked you to take revenge on my behalf,” spat Odin. “Your motives and methods were too much like Laufey, too underhanded and unethical, and I taught you better than that, Loki. No, you will stay here. Thor has no room for you in such a small house.”

“We only need to endure it until my graduation. It’s just two years.”

“And he would accept this level of responsibility?”

“Why not? He loves me.”

Odin rolled his eyes and shook his head. Hogun came back for another box, but Odin let out such a loud roar that he visibly bristled and froze from within the doorway, and Loki – heart racing, cold sweat over his flesh – raised a trembling hand and nodded his head. It appeared to have no immediate affect, as Hogun narrowed his gaze on Odin and looked him over, but soon he took the hint and took a few slow steps away. The sound stopped sooner than it ought, while the main staircase revealed no creaks of familiar steps. Odin muttered out:

“You would take advantage of that? You do not love Thor.”

“No? Then why am I fucking him?”

The words echoed out about the room. A loud crashed echoed further down the hall, where Fandral clearly cursed, and Frigga gasped from the bed and clutched the plush toy ever closer to her breast, as tears streamed down her cheeks. There was no taking back the confession, not at this point, and Loki drew in a deep breath as his heart raced. He forced a smirk. Even as the room swam around him, he licked at his lips and stepped closer to Odin. Loki spat:

“I’ve been fucking him for the past _three_ years.”

Odin snarled and stormed forward. Loki stood his ground. He kept his head held high, even as Odin raised a hand and clenched a fist, and – as that back-handed fist came crashing down – he retained his smirk without so much as a flinch. The blow fell midair and the hand dropped lifelessly to Odin’s side, as Odin fell back against Loki’s dresser and let tears run from his eye. Tears all around. Loki bit into his lip until he tasted blood, and – while the iron filled his mouth – he wondered how Odin could have ever struck Thor. He whispered:

“You never could raise your hand to me.”

“Loki, do not lie about this.”

“I am _not_ lying,” spat Loki. “Our first time was the night before he left for university. Our second time was the night you caught us in bed together . . . did you not think it suspicious that I set my room up with candles and incense and expensive sheets? _Really_?”

“Stop this, Loki,” snarled Odin. “Enough.”

“The first time I took Thor _fully_ was my seventeenth birthday. He always struggled until then, as he never _did_ grasp the concept of ‘relaxing’, but we tried a few new techniques, and – well – he receives a fair amount from me these days. Of course, we don’t _always_ rely on penetration. I blew him in Fandral’s car. I jerked him under the blankets on movie nights. Did you know one time I frotted against him in _your_ bed? By the way, _awful_ sheets.”

Odin slapped him.

It was an open-handed slap, but it snapped his head to the side. The smirk finally left Loki, as he curled his lip and spat at the carpet with bloodied salvia, and – turning back with a dark glare at Odin – he saw Frigga rise and weep. Frigga reached for him, but he shrugged her away and continued to pack his rucksack with as many clothes as he could stash into the thick material, even as she pawed at him and begged him to stay and wept for forgiveness.

He continued to push her away. Loki swung his filled rucksack over his shoulder, while he hefted up his gym-bag into the crook of his arm, and – as he cast one final look to Odin – he saw a man so grief-stricken that no words could come, even as the tears fell. Loki took in a deep breath. He let out a scoff of breath and marched towards the doors, where Hogun stood only a few feet away with an eyebrow raised in concern. Loki tossed him the gym-bag, while Odin stormed forward and grabbed Loki hard by his shoulder with a snarled:

“If you leave now, don’t you _ever_ come back!”

Loki jerked his shoulder out of the grip. He craned his head to see behind him, where Frigga clenched at the plush toy until a seam tore and her eyes looked bloodshot with pain, and Odin – paled with trembling lip – gazed pleadingly to Loki with a shaking fist. A terrible pain overwhelmed Loki, as he choked on air and bile. Adrenaline coursed through every vein. He swayed on his feet, while he blinked away tears and walked away for the last time.

“Goodbye, Grandfather . . .”


	11. Chapter 11

Thor watched at the window.

The car pulled up against the kerb. It struggled to find space between the two neighbours, while a pedestrian swore loudly as it took up half the pavement, and – as Thor ran to the front door – he watched with a smile as Hogun climbed out to remove several boxes. The lack of a front yard made it easier for him to drag the boxes inside, even if it left any walkers-by with an intimate look inside Thor’s living room, but Thor made no complaints.

He stood in the doorway with hands outstretched. Hogun shook his head and ignored the offer to help, as he walked awkwardly past Thor and deposited the first box into the lounge, and that was when there followed two familiar sounds of slamming car doors. Thor frowned, as he looked over to the beat-up car where Fandral climbed out from the driver’s seat. He nearly overlooked Loki at first. Thor half-suspected Sif or Volstagg, but Loki was a surprise that physically took his aback. Thor rapidly blinked and shook his head.

Loki stood and leaned against the car door, as he ran a hand through his black locks, and – as his head turned further into the sun – Thor caught sight of a red mark over his cheek, which looked both temporary and yet sore. Thor winced at the sight. The car was filled with far more boxes than expected, so Hogun must have been carrying several on his lap for the trip back, and the boot was tied closed with pieces of rope. Thor asked:

“I thought you were only forwarding a few boxes?”

Loki said nothing. He simply stormed across the two feet of pavement and marched inside, where Thor heard the immediate sound of hammering footsteps on wooden steps, along with a familiar creak and a slam of a door. Thor winced and looked to his friends, who worked quickly on shifting items from car into home. Hogun paused in the doorway to nod at Thor, while Fandral struggled behind him with two oversized boxes in his arms filled with books and papers. Thor noted how his arms strained, but he would accept no help.

“Go easy on him,” muttered Hogun.

“Your father kicked him out,” added Fandral. “They were in the middle of an argument when we got there. We didn’t think much about it at first, but it ended with a slap to Loki’s face and the famous last words: ‘if you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back’. Loki sat in the car while we fetched _everything_. His room’s bare as bones back home.”

“We called Volstagg for his trailer. He’s storing all non-essentials in his garage for now, but I’m more worried about Loki than his possessions. It’s not like his silver tongue to turn to lead, and he’s not spoken a word since we drove off. Not one word, Thor.”

“We’ll get everything inside, but maybe go speak to him, eh?”

“He will listen to you,” said Hogun.

Thor cursed and jerked his head hard. The fact was that the downstairs consisted of two small living rooms, one kitchen, and an attached bathroom. Thor was loath to admit that both he and Jane used an entire living room for storing boxes of their belongings as thing stood, but now – with Loki’s boxes joining them – it would only make the house further crowded, unless one of them decided to shoulder the burden of rent alone and move out.

He watched as Fandral and Hogun piled boxes inside, until the front lounge looked like a game of Tetris, and he glanced through the inside doors to see Jane and Donald in the kitchen, both making vast amounts of tea as a show of gratitude to Fandral and Hogun. He cast his eyes back to the staircase. There were no sounds from his bedroom, whether from tears or music or pacing footsteps, and yet the grunts from his friends and the laughter from the kitchen were audible above all else. Thor ran a hand over his face and muttered:

“If either of you need anything –”

“We know, we know,” teased Fandral. “Jane’s in the kitchen.”

Thor marched upstairs. He kept his head low and stood between the two bedroom doors on the dark landing, where he paused with hand on his doorknob, and – as he drew in a deep breath – he reminded himself that they could pay to store the boxes, but whatever Loki endured was immediate and not so easily solved. Thor rested his forehead on the cool wooden frame, while he tried to slow his racing heart. A few sniffs sounded from within, while their friends laughed and joked and teased below. The world went on around them.

He carefully opened the bedroom door; Loki sat perched on the bottom bunk, with a rucksack between his parted legs, and – as he massaged at his temples – Thor saw the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes ready to fall. Thor crossed the floor and sat beside Loki. The bed dipped with his weight, knocking Loki over onto him, and a part of him wondered whether the ‘fall’ was intentional, as he wrapped his arms around Loki and nuzzled against him.

“Loki?” Thor asked. “Are you okay?”

Thor buried his nose into Loki’s hair, where he breathed deep the familiar scent of expensive shampoos and conditioners, which Thor could not even remember last having been able to afford, and he winced when Loki finally pulled away with a sniff, so that his green eyes – shimmering and blurred – looked about his new bedroom. The peeling wallpaper and patches of mould on the ceiling were bearable for a few hours at a time, maybe a stolen weekend, but Thor swallowed back the shame as expecting Loki to endure it for two more years.

Loki wiped at his cheeks. Thor smiled and reached out in turn, gently pushing away Loki’s hands so that he could kiss away every tear, and – as Loki finally smiled – his eyes fell on the few small changes in Thor’s room in recent weeks. A gown hung from the back of his bedroom door, while a cap decorated a model of the human brain, and a stack of presents sat beside a decorative lamp that also doubled as a paperweight for a stack of applications.

“You keep an old vodka bottle?”

“Ah, that,” said Thor. “It’s actually converted into a lamp.”

“That seems awfully bad taste,” murmured Loki.

“It was the last bottle I ever drank.” Thor smiled and shrugged. “Tony kept it that night I rang you from the toilets puking up a lung. I think he meant to keep it as a visual reminder not to be like him, but I went to counselling and my AA meeting the next day. He saw I was making a _real_ change and saved it for a new reason instead. He gave it to me on my graduation.”

“How jolly,” teased Loki. “A downer to the day?”

“Nah, it’s actually pretty positive. It’s a reminder of where I came from, but a reminder that you can change from something poisonous into something positive. I can change. I _have_ changed. Every time I use it, it literally lights up and Tony says that’s like me, I ‘light up a room’, and I kind of like that. I can’t change what I _was_ , but I can use that as a foundation to be something better, you know? I don’t ever want to forget that . . . plus, it’s cool.”

Loki laughed. He stood with a few sniffs and snatched his rucksack from the floor, before he wandered over to the wardrobe and opened it wide. Thor winced to realise that there was literally no room for any further clothes, with his own so stacked and squashed inside that the door refused to ever fully close. They would need to make compromises. Loki rolled his eyes and threw his bag on top, before he crossed over to the desk and toyed with turning the lamp on and off, until he sighed and just settled for ‘off’. He called out:

“Well, no one else has a lamp like that.”

“Nope, but . . . can we talk?” Thor winced and shrugged. “Loki, you’re always welcome here with me, but I wasn’t expecting you for another three months. I’ve not got my chip for a year sobriety yet, and I’ve only _just_ graduated . . . I don’t even have a job lined up, while Donald and Jane are always underfoot, because these old terraced houses are so _tiny_ , and –”

“Don’t tell me you’re chucking me out already?” Loki folded his arms where he stood. “I know I’m a few months early, but I _don’t_ think – by the look of things – you would be any better prepared for my arrival then than now. Besides, where else can I go?”

“I – I’m not kicking you out, Loki.”

“But you don’t want me here, is that it? You have an entire lounge dedicated to just _storage_ , while this place is merely rented and falling to pieces, and you haven’t so much as emptied a drawer for me to store even a handful of socks or underwear. I can see it in your face, Thor. It may as well be painted on your forehead in red ink: ‘terrified and burdened’.”

Thor watched as Loki walked about the room. He would run a finger over the shelves, as he curled his lip at the dust that gathered, while opening doors and struggling to close them once again over how much filled them to the brim. Thor listened to the kettle boil in the kitchen just beneath his window, where Jane laughed and cried out at some good-natured teasing, and he just knew that his friends would be piling out into the garden, as there was just not enough space to entertain four people indoors. He ran his hands over his beard with a sigh.

“You’re not a burden,” muttered Thor.

“Don’t lie to me, Uncle.”

“I’m _not_ lying, Loki.” Thor winced and then added with a grunt: “Well, maybe a little. Can you actually say that any of this is ideal? I’m prepared to make compromises and sacrifices, because all I want is _you_ , but that doesn’t make it any easier when we could both be living off ramen noodles and water for weeks at a time, you know? I’m _broke_ , Loki.”

“I’m not an idiot, Thor. I know my peers _thought_ me one, as I must be the only student alive with a part-time job, but it enabled me to save a small nest-egg, and some of those boxes I bought with me -? Rolex watches, Armani suits, a Stradivarius I never once played –”

“Loki, you know that we can’t –”

“I _know_ that we ‘can’t’, which is why I thought we could sell them,” said Loki. “I won’t be the only one to sell my old luxuries, while you have _far_ too many boxes to be justified downstairs, but we wouldn’t have to worry about rent or food for these two years.”

“You -? I -?” Thor blinked and laughed. “I didn’t even consider selling some of our old stuff. I’ve just been storing it like an idiot, waiting for when we might get a place of our own once you finish with education, but – yeah – that would be pretty great. We might actually be able to use that front room as a study, like Jane originally planned, too.”

Loki came back over to the bed. He shrugged off his leather coat and draped it over a chair, followed by his waistcoat and tie, before he sat beside Thor and rested his hands on one muscled shoulder, so he could – in turn – rest his chin on his hands. Loki watched Thor with a low hum of contentment, while Thor turned his head and rubbed their noses together with a soft laugh, and soon Loki’s soft lips reached out to peck at his cheek. There was a long sigh, when Loki pulled back and lay down on the bed behind Thor. Thor whispered:  

“How’re you feeling, though?”

Thor lay beside Loki and rested his head on his hand. The bunk was a single bed, forcing them close enough to share breath and feel each other’s warmth, and Loki half-closed his eyes as his hand reached out to play with Thor’s lovelock. Thor hummed an old tune, one half-remembered from their childhood with Frigga, while he watched how Loki furrowed his brow and pursed at his lips. He looked broken and vulnerable, even as he said:

“I don’t mind being disowned.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” admitted Loki. “It hurts like a mother-fucker, but in a strange way . . . I understand. He knows that we’re breaking the law, while he also knows that – if this falls apart – we could cause irrevocable damage to our family, and he also believes this to be a sin. We can’t deny that it’s also a social taboo, so a kneejerk reaction is possibly natural.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” said Thor.

“ _But_ that isn’t all.” Loki winced and blinked away tears. “I – I may have sabotaged Laufey under the pretence of a father-child relationship, and now he’s awaiting trial and will likely serve a _considerable_ sentence if justice is delivered. I didn’t care. I thought I was avenging a man like a father to me, while Laufey abandoned me and never wanted me.

“It turns out that Laufey _trul_ y didn’t even know I was alive. Fárbauti kept it from him, likely unwilling to have me a part of her household for obvious reasons, while Helblindi and Býleistr were always _far_ older than me and never needed Laufey’s permission to be a part of my life, while agreeing with Fárbauti to keep her lies. Grandfather played to this open secret, as he didn’t want to risk a court battle. He kept me from Laufey. He _lied_ to me.”

Thor flinched with a curse. He wrapped his arms around Loki and pulled him tight, before he rolled onto his back with Loki rested on his chest, and – as Loki sobbed while listening to his heartbeat – he entangled their legs together and placed chaste kisses to black hair. It was difficult to imagine how this would change Loki’s identity and self-perception . . . the unwanted child was now the wanted man, but bridges were burned and how would Laufey forgive the one who left him to rot in a dirty cell. Thor said in a quiet voice:

“I’m sorry, Loki.”

Loki sniffed and sat astride Thor. It was a position that may have aroused Thor at any other time, but all he could see were those paled cheeks and bloodshot eyes, and – as Thor reached up to cup his neck – he realised how ice-cold Loki’s skin felt to the touch. Loki wrapped his hand over Thor’s before he entwined their fingers with a sad smile, and a stray tear ran down his cheek as a broken smile crossed his lips. Thor took in a deep breath, before he pulled Loki down and pressed their foreheads to one another. He briefly closed to his eyes.

“Loki, what can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” said Loki. “I _destroyed_ any relationship I might have with Laufey. I may as well have rammed a blade straight into his heart, and – thanks to his imprisonment – I have well and truly burned that bridge. All for _nothing_! I did it all for him . . . for Grandfather . . . he instead wishes I’d never committed such an act, while I just – I just – I –! I want to hurt and be hurt. I want to be punished. I want to run . . . hide . . . _break_. . . I can’t –!

“Do you ever feel like just letting go? I feel like I could just walk in front of a car, or jump from a window, or throw myself from a bridge . . . I feel I have nothing to lose, because the world hates me and the world’s turned its back on me, and all I have is _you_ , Thor. I – I’m turning to you, even as you fight to avoid a single sip, and what if I’m driving you to –”

“No, Loki,” swore Thor. “ _No_. My actions are my choice. If I was stressed or worried over this depression of yours, it would still be _my_ choice to take a drink or abstain, and those actions would _never_ be your fault. You are entitled to your emotions, Loki.”

“Even if those emotions hurt those around me?”

“Even then!” Thor held him tight. “You never need to feel ashamed to feel as you feel. I don’t want you to bottle things up, always worried how I might react, and – hey – why don’t I cut you a deal here . . . if I feel like I need to drink, I’ll come to you, but if you feel that you want to hurt yourself, you come to me. We’ll continue therapy in the meantime.”

Loki let out a long sigh, as he rolled back onto his side. Thor saw the tension to his shoulders, while his hands clenched into tight fists until the knuckles turned white, and his jaw was clenched until his lips became but a thin line. The day was still young, but Thor knew that Loki would want to sink into a hot bath and hide away until nightfall. He forced himself to sit upright with a crick of his neck, as he reached out to undo Loki’s shirt, while Loki lay limp and allowed him to slowly strip the shirt from his body without a single complaint.

“I think they’re nearly done downstairs,” whispered Loki.

Thor shrugged. He carefully folded the shirt, before he threw Loki’s dressing-gown at him from where it sat folded on the top bunk, and – with a yawn – slowly worked at Loki’s trousers and shoes while he listened to the noises outside. The barbeque started to let out delicious scents of cooking meats, while there followed the familiar noises of someone popping the tabs of non-alcoholic beer, and the familiar complaints about the taste.

He continued to undress Loki, until he was completely nude, and – as Loki cursed at the cold – Thor rolled his eyes and wrapped him in the dressing gown, before pulling the thick blankets over his limp frame. It was difficult to begrudge Loki a day of being spoiled, especially when his depressions often hit hard and fast, but there were still so many issues to overcome and so much to organise if Loki were to stay long-term. Thor took Loki’s hand and massaged the tense flesh with the pads of his thumbs, as he shrugged with a sigh.

“They can wait,” muttered Thor.

“Do you think this can work?” Loki asked. “I know we lived together before Grandfather kicked you out, but we _never_ shared a room and now there’s so much more . . . your alcoholism, my issues, Jane’s recovery . . . what if this doesn’t work out? We could have sacrificed _everything_ for _nothing_. I love you, but I can’t see you hurt.”

“Loki, all we have left is each other.” Thor pressed a kiss to his brow. “If this doesn’t work out, we can go back to being just friends and relatives . . . you’d still have Sigyn, I’d still have Sif and the self-styled Warriors Three . . . we’re all a family already, but just a family we chose and a family we committed toward. I think it’s clear blood’s not exactly thicker than water, and we can’t go back at this point, can we? We have nothing to go back to.”

“So we _make_ this work?”

“No, Loki, I’m not putting that pressure on us. What we _make_ work is our friendship and mutual support, because if we try to force a romantic relationship and it doesn’t work out . . . we’ll just add to the guilt and shame and push us both into relapses. If I’m honest, I think we’ll work. We’ve worked for the past three years, Loki! The only difference now is we’ll be living together. If that’s enough to break us -? Well, we’ll still remain friends.”

Loki hummed and pulled Thor beside him. Thor scrunched closed his eyes to fight back tears, as he held Loki tight against his chest, and he knew these questions . . . _fear the three-year romance might fail, fear he might push Thor into a relapse_. . . all stemmed from the same fear of abandonment. He was rejected by Odin. He betrayed Laufey. Every breath Loki took was shuddered and broken, even as Thor stroked a hand through his hair and shushed him with gentle sounds, while Loki nodded upward and said with a shaky smirk:

“I guess I could take the top bunk, if we break up.”

“See, I told you they were a good idea.”

Loki laughed, while Thor strove to hold him ever closer. The laughter outside made it clear their friends were content, but Loki’s phone buzzed over and over from his coat pocket, until – with an annoying sound – Thor’s started to ring out between Loki’s calls. They ignored the sounds of the outside world, while they simply basked in each other’s presence, and Thor slid his hand beneath Loki’s gown so that he could press his palm against that racing heart, and – with a murmur of relief – he let a tear fall as he felt each and every beat.

“I love you, Loki. That will _never_ change.”

Loki smiled and said with a sigh:

“I love you, too, Thor.”


	12. Epilogue

“Loki, watch Narfi!”

Thor awkwardly juggled the shopping bags, as he kicked closed the apartment door. A few apples spilled out from one, rolling across the floorboards with small thuds, and – as Thor cursed – he walked over to the open kitchenette and dropped the bags onto the counter. The apartment was surprisingly spotless. A baby-gate stopped Narfi from crossing over into the kitchen, while others blocked the bedroom and bathroom from further access, and all his toys surprisingly appeared still in perfect place inside the toy-box off to the side.

A familiar theme tune blared from the television, sung in French, while Thor quickly tried to ram the perishables into the refrigerator, as he watched Narfi with a nervous eye. Narfi was a beautiful boy, with curly blonde hair and eyes so green they could almost be mistaken as the same as Loki, and yet he held Loki’s natural curiosity and constantly reached out for all that was in the way of his grasping hands. He toddled around the coffee-table.

Loki sat cross-legged on the floor with glasses perched on his nose. He looked remarkably young, even at twenty-six, and that impression wasn’t helped by his hair cut short and slicked back against his skull. The laptop before him was littered with dozens of open windows and graphs and charts, while paperwork littered the glass top until nothing could be seen except contracts and letters and various official documents. Loki pushed a pen behind his ear and pulled at the collar of his polo-neck jumper, as he called back:

“I am busy, Thor.”

Thor rolled his eyes, as he glanced to the timetable stuck on the fridge door. It was nearly time for Narfi’s lunch, which was scheduled as a fruit salad with yoghurt, but it would take time to prepare and already Narfi appeared to be getting ever closer and closer to a black mug that also sat on the tabletop. Every time Narfi grabbed for a piece of paper, Loki would lightly smack his hand and whisper a cold ‘no’, while Narfi would roll his eyes with a sigh and reach for another one as if the next might wield another response.

It brought a smile to Thor’s lips, even as his heart raced to see him get closer and closer to the mug that likely held scorching coffee, and – unable to endure any further – Thor dropped a cabbage into the vegetable drawer and ran to the table. He snatched Narfi up just inches from the mug, throwing him high in the air with a feigned laugh. Luckily, Narfi assumed the several throws to be a game and not a distraction. Thor snapped with an ever-present smile:

“He could have scalded himself!”

“Really?” Loki rolled his eyes. “I think not.”

Thor continued to throw Narfi into the air, catching him with loud roars of laughter or fake gasps of surprise, while the two-year old boy giggled and cried out until his cheeks turned red, and Loki – letting out a long sigh at the sight – reached for his mug. He tapped the top, which was covered with a piece of plastic, and then tipped it upside-down over his laptop . . . _nothing_. It was clearly a travel-mug, with a child-proof lid for extra reassurance.

Thor cursed and slid onto the floor beside Loki. He struggled to keep Narfi on his lap, but soon grabbed one of the stray apples from the floor and found a water-wipe from a box beneath the coffee-table, and – wiping it clean – handed it to Narfi with a big smile. Narfi struggled to eat the apple, far too large for his tiny mouth, but it would keep him occupied with his stubborn determination, while Thor tried to avoid Loki’s cold glare aimed straight at his cheek, and instead bounced Narfi on his lap with gentle smiles. Loki asked:

“Do you _really_ think me so bad a parent?”

“Of course not,” muttered Thor.

“You’re too over-protective.” Loki sighed and returned to typing at his laptop. “You know that I’ve been sneaking him cookies whenever you leave the house, right? We have a secret stash behind a false bottom in the cutlery drawer. What kind of boy can’t even eat _sugar_? He isn’t even allowed on his tricycle without a helmet . . . _indoors_ , I may add.”

“Okay, so I’m a _little_ over-protective. He’s our firstborn, that’s all, and he’s the only family we have left, and – let’s face it – it’s not been easy moving over here. Belgium is great, but I _miss_ being able to speak Icelandic or English, and I _miss_ our friends.”

“I can understand that, Thor, but you really need to trust me.”

“I just thought you’d spend more time with him . . .”

Thor awkwardly slid his hand into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a Swiss army knife and worked at pealing the apple, before he cut it up into small chunks and pushed away some of the paperwork to set down the slices for Narfi to grab with tiny fists, and Loki – with a heavy hiss of breath – snatched at the papers to pile up on the other side of the table. Thor slid the knife back and did the button over his picket to be safe, while he wiped at Narfi’s mouth as juice spilled everywhere. Loki let out a low groan and slammed closed his laptop.

“Look, Thor, I’ve a _lot_ of work that needs to be finished.”

“You’re not the only one that works, Loki.” Thor kissed at Narfi’s cheeks with a laugh. “I’m not underestimating the difficulties of working as a lawyer, but you’re not the only one that’s working full-time! I can’t raise Narfi on my own. I need some support.”

“Well, _that_ much is obvious. Is he still drawing on the walls?”

“Ah, no, I fixed that problem,” chirped Thor. “I tacked up white-boards all over the lower parts of the walls; he can draw all he wants and we just have to wipe it off, so it kills two birds with one stone, and I also swapped out all his pens for water-based markers, so it’ll wash off his skin and clothes without any stains. I covered all bases.”

“So now he thinks it’s _okay_ to draw on the walls?”

“I could say the same about tipping mugs.”

Thor rolled his eyes and tipped the travel mug upside-down. Loki huffed and snatched it back, before he placed it on top of his laptop and reached out for Narfi, and – with a loud laugh – Narfi jumped happily on Loki’s lap and clamoured at him with juice-covered hands. A curl of the lip and narrowing of the eyes betrayed Loki’s disgust; Thor dangled a wipe before him, knowing what was about to come next, as Loki yanked it from his hands and quickly wiped at his jumper, before he worked at Narfi’s hands. Thor nuzzled against him and whispered:

“I still want for us try to for another one.”

“Another what?” Loki mumbled.

“A _baby_ , Loki. Narfi needs a brother or sister.”

There followed an awkward silence. Loki blinked rapidly and shook his head, as he reached around Narfi to pile up his papers and place them underneath the travel mug, all the while Narfi yanked at his jumper and whined for attention, and Thor – taking pity on their son – lifted him away and hugged him close against his chest. Loki sighed and moved his possessions over to the dining room table, too high for Narfi to reach, as he called back:

“We can barely look after this one.”

“We could use your sperm this time,” said Thor. “Sigyn _did_ say she was open to being a surrogate again, if we wanted another child, and she was still open to that when we last spoke, so they’d be biologically siblings. It’s not as though we can’t provide for another one, plus I could always take less hours at work to spend more time with them. It’s an idea.”

“I’m a bit dubious about using the same surrogate.” Loki collapsed into a chair, as he removed his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You forget I have to endure Helblindi and Býleistr being both my uncles _and_ my brothers, and it’s  . . . it’s messed up.”

“It’s up to you, Loki, but we could always adopt instead.”

“No. No, not that,” muttered Loki. “I like that idea even less after what Odin put us through, all because of his lies and refusal to let Laufey be a part of my life. I’ll think about using Sigyn as a surrogate again, but – truth be told – my biggest concern is whether we have the time or attention for another child. It’s not as though we have a support base here.”

Thor winced. It was a truth they could not deny; Loki was forced to work on the floor, whenever Thor left the apartment, just so he could be close to Narfi and within reach, and that inevitably made work so much harder. Thor also knew how difficult it was to lift weights or complete push-ups, as Narfi tried to climb over him and thought they were playing games, and all the while both men often ended up too exhausted to even make love come the evenings, once Narfi was finally exhausted and asleep. Thor leaned back against the sofa.

“Mother still stays in touch,” said Thor.

“Yes, _secretly,_ ” said Loki. “It’s not as though she’d be able to fly over should there be an emergency, and Sif and Fandral moved back to Iceland to raise _their_ family. Hogun moved back to Japan, Volstagg works and has a family, and Sigyn and Jane are amazing, but . . . they still live in England, just like Volstagg does. We’re already juggling shifts as things stand, just so one of us is always with Narfi, and with one more -?”

“I could always quit work, if it bothers you. It’s like you say, the only job a personal trainer has is to break a sweat, and . . . I believe you said there are far more enjoyable ways to break a sweat, right?” Thor laughed with a wink. “I can work out from home, plus I was thinking about starting up some workout videos and maybe writing a book. It’s an idea.”

“You didn’t study three years for an honours degree just to be a stay-at-home dad, did you? I don’t know, Thor. It’s one thing to be alone with them a few hours a day, but if you had to be alone with them _all the time_ , can you honestly say it wouldn’t drive you crazy?”

“Loki, do you realise what you just said?”

“No, Thor, what did I just say?”

Thor stood and gently dropped Narfi onto the floor. He positioned the apple chunks in the shape of a smiley face, while he quickly scanned the room for any objects in reach that might pose a threat, but even the markers were uncapped for potential choking hazards. There was even tape around the remote, just in case Narfi somehow opened the back and tried to swallow the batteries. Thor finally satisfied himself that Narfi was safe, as he walked over to the cramped dining area and stood behind Loki to whisper:

“You called them ‘them’.”

Loki tensed as Thor kneaded at his shoulders. There were several knots, which brought small hissed to Loki’s lips as each one was worked away, and Thor watched silently as Loki opened his laptop and arranged his paperwork. The first document he saw was clearly a CV, while the second looked like a cover letter, and Thor smiled to realise that Loki was going for that promotion at work, which would help them greatly with a second child.

“Bollocks,” muttered Loki.

Thor laughed and leaned down to place a kiss to his cheek, followed by another and another, until Narfi cried out and dropped his apple chunk to the floor, and – running as fast as his little legs would allow – threw himself on Thor’s leg and reached up with grasping hands. It was impossible to resist him. Thor lifted him up and sat opposite Loki, where Narfi stood tall on his lap and pressed a kiss to his cheek with a loud ‘mwah’ noise, clearly jealous at not being the centre of attention. Thor kiss Narfi’s forehead with a laugh and asked:

“I was thinking ‘Hela’ for a girl?”

“Don’t you worry that would be a self-fulfilling prophecy?” Loki winced. “I would like to honour my mother, but I would also prefer a name less loaded with disgrace. I rather liked Váli for a boy? Freyja is a nice girl’s name, too, it reminds me of ‘Frigga’.”

“What about for a surname? Thorson or –”

“Thorson or Thorsdóttir.”

“Even if they’re your biological child?”

“Let’s not argue on tradition, Thor,” said Loki. “They would be biological siblings, yes? I think it would be better for them to have the same surname. Don’t you remember school? I used to get teased mercilessly for having a different surname, and it was only _worse_ after we explained Icelandic patronymics. ‘ _Your uncle is the same age as you? Creepy’_!”

“Well, hopefully people continue to buy that we aren’t related, so our children won’t have _that_ problem, at least.” Thor scratched at his beard with a sigh. “Okay, so Freyja Thorsdóttir or Váli Thorson? I – I also wanted to ask you something serious, Loki, but I need you to remain calm while we talk, and just remember . . . Narfi is old enough to know when we’re arguing, so no raised voices. You wouldn’t want to scare him, right?”

Loki let out a hiss of breath, as he lowered the laptop screen. He looked over the rim of his glasses, while he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side, and glanced quickly to the clock on the mantelpiece, obviously concerned with his deadlines. Thor opened his mouth to usher out an apology, but – with a strong yank – Narfi grabbed at his lovelock and Thor cried out in pain. He struggled to pry away little fingers, as Narfi laughed and tried to climb higher, while Loki struggled not to laugh as he asked in a firm voice:

“What have you done, Thor?”

“Father still wants to be able to see Narfi.”

“ _No_.” Loki’s tone turned cold. “I absolutely refuse.”

“Loki, it’s –”

“It’s probably a trick,” spat Loki. “We’ll either be arrested the _second_ that we set foot back in England, or he’ll arrange for social services to snatch the children away from us, while we have to navigate the _hassle_ of battling through the various international courts. If he comes here, there’s every chance he’ll cause a scene or a scandal. Why does he even _care_ , anyway?”

“He’s old, Loki. He knows he doesn’t have long left.” Thor winced. “I think we’ll both regret it if we don’t make amends, as it’ll haunt us forever . . . words left unsaid, questions left unanswered, a real goodbye never given . . . he regrets having disowned us.”

“Let him regret. He will _not_ see my son.”

“ _Our_ son, Loki. _Our_ children, too, once Sigyn conceives.” Thor sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “If you don’t want Narfi to see him, I can go alone. I just . . . I _need_ this, Loki. I don’t want him to die thinking that I hate him, and I don’t want him to die without getting some straight answers to the questions that plague me. He’s my _father_.”

Loki pursed at his lips and looked to Narfi. They would be unable to put off his lunch for much longer, while he also was due for a bath in an hour’s time and then a nap, and it seemed that their entire lives revolved around a boy who only just learnt to say ‘da’. Loki smiled and glanced to the photographs on the mantelpiece, which stood on either side of the clock . . . _family photographs, images of parents who must have felt this same love_. . . Loki pulled off his glasses and dropped them onto the table, as he ran his hands over his face. Loki muttered:

“Ask if he can wait a month.”

“Why wait a month?”

“I want to arrange things with Sigyn about the surrogacy, maybe get that started sooner rather than later,” admitted Loki. “We’ll also need something bigger than a one-bedroom apartment, especially if we’ll be having guests stay on top of another child, and I also want time to emotionally prepare. You can see him in the meantime, but for him to see Narfi -? I want a month to get things ready and to find the courage. I want some time.”

“I think he has a few years,” said Thor. “I’m actually hoping he’ll make it long enough to meet Freyja or Váli, but we don’t have to rush through everything just because you think there’s this new added pressure . . . let’s take our time with the conception and moving out. If you rush now, you’ll only add to the stress, Loki. I know I’m springing this all on you and –”

“No, you’ve been discussing all these issues for a while. It’s my fault for not taking it seriously and addressing them earlier, but you _must_ admit it’s far easier to run from your problems than to actually face them head on,” teased Loki.

“Okay, that’s a lesson we’re _not_ teaching our children.”

Thor laughed, as he lifted Narfi high into the air. He smiled to see Narfi laugh, only to pull him tight into a warm hug and press soft kisses to his blond hair, and – as he carefully stood – he placed Narfi onto the floor and walked over to the kitchenette. Thor climbed over the child-gate; Narfi ran after him and grasped at the bars, before his face fell and he collapsed onto his buttocks with a loud cry of defeat, and Thor quickly went to work on the salad and homemade yoghurt. He called out over the loud tears:

“Do you think we’ll be good parents?”

“Well, we hardly have good examples to follow,” muttered Loki.

“No, I’m being serious, Loki. Do you think we’ll do good by our children?”

Loki shrugged and pushed back his chair. He came around to scoop Narfi into his arms and leaned against the kitchen wall, while Narfi sniffed loudly and tried to reach out to Thor, even as Thor whispered heartbroken apologies and leaned back to kiss him. Narfi yelled out ‘no’ and buried his head against Loki, where he sniffed and sobbed and hid away from Thor. It brought a laugh to Loki’s lips, as he stole the intended kiss instead, with a whispered:

“You already _are_ a perfect father, Thor.”

Thor blinked away tears, as he dropped the knife he held onto the side. He reached out to cup Loki’s neck with slightly wet fingers, pulling him so close that Narfi was somewhat squashed between them, and – with a broken laugh – pressed his lips to Loki’s and kissed him long and deep, until both pulled away breathless. Thor quickly turned back to the meal with a laugh, as he shook his head and wiped at his eyes, while Narfi reached back for Thor and grasped the air for a kiss in turn. Thor pecked his cheek, before he looked back to Loki and said:

“I love you, Loki.”

“I love you, too,” swore Loki.


End file.
